Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

it had been long years of feeling nothing. andrew had perfected swallowing down his own emotions like bitter, patented pills to the point one might even call it an art. it had started when he had been very young, too young to comprehend the enormity of what he had been doing but knowing that he needed to do it, that not doing it would be somehow a thousand times worse than doing it. and so, he had thrown up walls in his mind, poorly constructed and strengthening as the years went by, as he passed through foster home after foster home, each one leaving him with lessons worse than the last.

after the last home, after cass and drake, he’d learned all too well the consequences of wanting too much, too hard. by then, the walls had turned into a steel fortress, locking in the child in him who still ached with the raw, desperate desire to be loved. to be wanted. by then, nothing could penetrate, not even the desperate words of a brother he hadn’t known he had. each burst of hope, echoed in aaron’s eyes, was smothered without mercy. andrew did not feel, and most importantly, he did not want.

it was the same, careful apathy that led to a destructive disregard for his own life, the disregard that made him spin the wheel on tilda’s car from the passenger seat with no concern of being collateral. it was the same disregard that made him beat up men twice his size after they had dared touch nicky—dared touch what was his.

the drugs were different. they forced him into a haze, with each moment blurred by the mania and a fake, artificial joy that stretched grins across his lips.

after they were gone, bee said that it might take years for their effects to fade and for him to feel again. and andrew was fine with that, he really was. without the mania, he could go back to how he was before, with silence and apathy building up the fortress he had spent years refining.

but there was a crack in his plan, and it was neil. neil, who he’d thought was just an effect of the drugs, a hallucination meant to fade after the withdrawal had passed. instead, he was real, unbelievably so, and with each teasing smirk and joyful spark to his eyes, he gave andrew a glimpse into a world that was colourful, not smeared in shades of red and grey; a world where boys like him could be happy, or try to be, anyway.

andrew tried to resist that world for the longest time. he turned away from its bright allure, throwing up more walls with the desperate hope they’d stick. disregard surfaced again, but this time it was in the form of blunt words and a steadily climbing percentage that he wished would drive neil off but never did. neil matched him word for word, each carefully spun truth and acerbic barb. he didn’t falter, didn’t hesitate, didn’t step back even when andrew bared the ugliest parts of himself.

neil was a crack in his walls, in the very walls which had been designed to withstand the most severe of attacks but never whispering cracks. he never took more than andrew was willing to give, and with each respected boundary and whispered questions of ‘yes or no’ he burrowed a way into the parts of andrew he had long believed dead and rotten.

until he was feeling again.

until he was wanting again.

but nothing came without a cost, and andrew had known that his entire life. feelings brought with them careful smiles and little smirks that made neil’s eyes light up like he’d glimpsed something infinitely precious, but they also brought with them the sharp edges of anxiety andrew had long thought he’d left behind. with them came the memories, and the nightmares, cold and jagged and leaving ruin in their wake. he tried to hold out for as long as he could, but the sense of safety that dogged him had made his walls weak; they shattered against the barrage.

at first, andrew was able to keep his bad days to himself, when neil was still at palmetto and several miles separated them. it was not born out of a desire to hide or to keep secrets, but merely because old habits stuck hard, and he was too used to guarding every piece of vulnerability and weakness with zealous hands. looking back, he isn’t sure how he was able to balance the demands of professional sport with his own spiraling mind, but he managed.

bee helped, infinitely so. she was there to listen whenever he called, whether it be their weekly scheduled skype meetings or midnight phone calls made with shaking hands and quivering breath. she encouraged him to reach out to neil as well, to confide and let himself be taken care of, but the thought only made his hands shake harder.

it was not that he didn’t trust neil.

it was that he couldn’t trust himself. he was worried—no, terrified, of being dependent, of taking more than neil could give, of spilling too much of himself on the floor and driving neil away. for neil knew his past, and he knew his secrets, but he was a stranger to the person andrew became when his trauma was too much to handle. he was volatile. he was a patchwork mess of scars and memory, swinging wildly between panic and the kind of explosive rage that often resulted in shattered ceramic and him huddled against a corner of his kitchen, shivering until the memories faded, glass cutting into his hands. neil knew him, but he did not know the andrew who screamed, who begged, who was an amalgamation of the man he was and the child he’d been, who snapped at all who dared come too close and spent his nights huddled under his blankets and whimpering for relief.

andrew would never call himself insecure, but it was insecurity indeed that plagued him, insecurity that wrapped cold hands around his mind on the nights he could not breathe and warped his thoughts until all he could hear was undeserving, undeserving, undeserving, undeserving.

it was at bee’s insistence that he got the cats. king and sir, he called them, abbreviations of the ridiculous names nicky had given them over video call the night he’d gotten them. on good days, they reminded andrew that he was real, that there was someone dependent on him for their survival. it helped fill the emptiness that had been left in him when kevin graduated, the part of him that was hollow and aching with the need to be useful, to protect someone, to be something more than just a mess, a monster. 

on the bad days, the cats curled up with him on the bed. they lay on top of him, and their soft fur prevented him from fading into the memories that crept at the edge of his consciousness. their insistent purrs and demands to be petted kept him grounded in his own body, hands stroking over arching backs and scratching behind twitching ears.

with time, the days did not get any easier, but he got better at coping with them, at dealing with the anxiety and the flashbacks. of course, there were still days that were truly terrible, when nothing and no one could bring him out of the cage his mind had built and trapped him in, but he survived them, and was slowly coming to realise that that was what counted the most.

through it all, his relationship with neil persevered. it had taken a long time and a lot of introspection for andrew to be able to admit that what they had was more than just a ‘this’, that neil meant more to him than anyone ever could, but once the admission came it stuck, and he was no longer hesitant when calling neil his partner.

despite all the ‘progress’ he made (as bee liked to call it), andrew did not tell neil about how bad things could get. even from states away, he knew how neil was struggling from the after-effects of a life spent on the run, trying to navigate being a real person and not an identity that could be dropped any second. his trauma, too, had caught up with him the way andrew’s had, and most of their calls, when they did happen (for it was hard to coordinate schedules and the exhaustion that came with playing exy), were full of whispered conversations, with neil’s voice often raspy with sleep or exhaustion, that ended when one of them inevitably fell asleep over the line.

it wasn’t for a lack of trying. neil called as often as he could and regaled andrew with all matter of tales, describing his day and his teammates and his classes and the sunrise he’d seen that morning on his run. in return, andrew told him about the cats’ daily antics and about the two baristas in the coffee shop he frequented that he was almost certain were rivals. neil called him after nightmares, too, in the middle of the night or the middle of the day—whenever he managed to catch some sleep—and such calls were often spent with andrew counting his breaths out loud and making neil follow, heart aching at the sound of the gasping breaths neil took and wishing intensely to be there next to him so he could place a hand on the back of his neck and calm him down.

they met in the gaps between games. these were, although andrew was loathe to admit it, the highlights of the life he now led. being with neil, being around neil, just breathing in the same air as him, made tension leech out of andrew’s very being. the anxiety that plagued him on the regular faded until it was a manageable itch at the back of his mind, and the voices of his past that so frequently tormented him fell silent, hushed, perhaps in awe, that he could have something so inherently good.

a few instances of feeling himself physically calm in neil’s presence were more than enough to make andrew realise the benefits of opening up to neil, to letting himself be held up. but the doubt niggled still, always at the back of his mind, that neil had seen horrors but never the nightmare that andrew could be at his worse. more so than that—although it took several sessions with bee to admit it—andrew didn’t want neil to worry. he didn’t want to burden neil with his own problems when neil was so obviously going through several of his own, with prominent dark circles underneath his eyes and exhaustion making his shoulders sag whenever they met.

and so, andrew managed to stay in hiding for longer than he had believed he could. perhaps, if he hadn’t been so preoccupied with college and exy and trauma, neil might have read into the silences andrew left behind, the nights where he picked up the phone and listened to him ramble without saying a word, but he didn’t, and andrew preferred it that way, even if it made his chest hurt with what he’d come to identify as loneliness.

all of it came to head during the summer after neil’s graduation. he’d come, all smiles and soft affection, and settled himself right in denver alongside the cats and potted plants in andrew’s flat.

at first, it was disorienting, sharing his space after more than a year having it to himself, but joy at having neil over all the time soon outweighed any hesitance andrew felt. it didn’t even occur to him to worry about what would happen if he had a bad day, so caught up was he in the euphoria of being around neil, of having neil, all to himself.

the first two weeks were a blur of late-night cigarettes and coffee dates around the city. andrew had never imagined such a life for himself, but he cherished the simple domesticity and peace he found with neil. it was in these days, spent navigating boundaries that had become as familiar as maps on the back of their hands, that he was able to finally see what bee meant when she said he was healing. each morning spent waking up with neil curled up, trusting and asleep in his arms, made the flame of hope that had ignited in andrew’s chest burn brighter, until he was sure it would be visible to all who saw him, warmth suffusing his being like taffy.

but he should’ve known better than to hope.

the day had begun like any other. neil left for his morning run at the ass-crack of dawn like always, chuckling and kissing andrew’s cheek in apology when he grumbled at being awakened. it was only when he heard the front door shut with a resounding click, neil taking the last of his sleep with him, that andrew realised something was wrong.

it wasn’t something major; he didn’t even remember the dreams he’d had. but months of monitoring shifts in his mood made him notice the heaviness in his chest, the dryness of his throat, the tension pooling in his shoulders.

he almost didn’t want to believe it at first. things had been good. he had been good. happy, almost, if one could claim he knew what it felt like. the thought of having a bad day, of having a bad day when he wanted to spend time with neil, made his eyes burn with sharp frustration, and he desperately tried to will it away, to pretend that the heaviness in his chest was merely exhaustion from a day spent walking around with neil.

but the longer he remained in bed, the more the heaviness persisted. so, he dragged himself out of the cocoon of blankets that protected him and gave the cats their food, crouching between them and stroking their backs as they ate. then, he dragged himself to the bathroom, feeling more lethargic by the minute, and decided to take a bath.

using baths to relax was a method he had discovered shortly after getting the flat. they’d had a bath at the house in columbia, but he’d never been interested in using it. it was only after bee’s suggestion, during a session after a particularly terrible day, of finding practices of self-care to ground himself in the present that andrew had considered the idea. it had taken root, especially when she told him about aromatherapy and suggested buying fragmented bath bombs and settling in the water with a book of his preference for as long as he desired.

andrew was not in the mood to read, but he reasoned that a bath might help settle him further in his skin. he brushed his teeth and took a shower while the tub filled, then dropped in a lavender-scented bath bomb. it was one of the more difficult ones to find, with two more herbs mixed in, but it calmed him the most. he had almost grown to love it, as much as he could love anything, anyway—years had passed since he’d been in the foster system but many of the habits still stuck, a lack of self-indulgence and refusal to love material objects that he could lose being one of them.

the idea was good in theory and worked at first. the familiar scents surrounding him made andrew relax until he was reclining comfortably in the water, eyes half-lidded with a sudden wave of drowsiness. his mind emptied of all thoughts under the heat of the water for several blissful minutes, and his lips curled up in contentment.

but the more he remained there the more doubt surfaced. he had never told neil about his love for scented baths, and he wondered how he would react. explaining the habit would mean revealing the truth about his mental health, and he did not want to do that. more than that, andrew worried about how the rest of the day would go. normally, on days like this, he would lounge around in bed with the cats and distract himself by watching documentaries online. but they had already made plans for the day. neil, the junkie, had grown antsy after so many days without playing exy and had looked up courts in the locality. andrew had rolled his eyes at the thought of exy during their ‘vacation’, as neil liked to call it, but he didn’t want to deny neil anything. he didn’t want to admit it, but he had missed the sparkle in neil’s eyes that only exy could bring.

and now he was having a bad day. his mind just had to go and fuck everything up, and that too during the one time he had wished nothing would happen.

he should know better than to want things by now. especially if they were good.

stumbling out of the bath, he drained the water and dried himself off with shaking hands. his clothes felt itchy and too small on his frame when he pulled them on, despite being the softest and largest garments he owned, and his breath came in choppy gasps as he left the bathroom and made a beeline for the bed, burying himself under its covers and pulling them over his face to block out all light.

one of the cats meowed and jumped onto the bed.

“king?” andrew mumbled, reaching out blindly with a shaking hand. the cat headbutted him with a meow. he pulled the blanket down so he could see who it was.

it was, indeed, king, watching him with her large and tawny eyes. he raised the covers for her, hoping she would join him, and let out a relieved breath when she did. she curled up on his chest, right above his heart as she always did, and the familiar weight pushed back the voices in his head for a blessed moment. andrew buried a hand in her long fur and closed his eyes, trying to count his breathing with no success. king began to purr, happy to be petted.

the mattress dipped a moment later—it was sir, climbing over his legs and meowing in concern. andrew realised he was whimpering and cupped a hand over his mouth to hold the sound in. he couldn’t stop shaking. the memories were already there, vivid and so real, phantom hands dragging over his skin.

he raised king from his chest and sat up, scrambling back against the headboard and setting her on his lap. with his other hand, he reached out to sir. she came willingly, still meowing, and jumped on his shoulder, wrapping herself around his neck. the weight grounded andrew and he closed his eyes, burying both hands in king’s fur and scrambling for an anchor to reality.

it was difficult to find. the world was warped like a funhouse mirror, its colours too bright and its sounds too loud. his skin was tingling, clothes rubbing uncomfortably against his body. he shoved all the pillows and blankets off the bed, overwhelmed with the sheer amount of fabric that surrounded him. king stood up and pressed herself into his chest, purring loudly almost as if to combat the intensity of the thoughts that plagued him.

andrew couldn’t stop shaking. he scrunched his eyes shut and tried to will the memories away, but they only pressed closer. hands grabbed at him and tore at his flesh; voices whispered in his ear and breathed down his neck. each jolt of remembered pain drew whimpers out of him until he was hunched over, trying to claw the hands off his body.

he had to be silent. he had to shut up. noises only meant punishment, only meant more pain, but he couldn’t shut up, couldn’t keep the sounds in where they belonged. he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear anything except for the snarls and groans of the men who had exploited him. they pulled him until he was a child again, held down against his will, sobbing and gasping and pleading for the pain to stop. his stomach churned, nausea making his throat close up. he was on a bed, he didn’t want to be on a bed, why was he on a bed—

and when he stumbled off it his foot caught on the sheets on the floor and sent him sprawling painfully to the ground. to his delirious mind it was like someone had shoved him, like someone had forced him down, and he trashed against phantom enemies, crying out in terror. but it was of no use, he was too weak, the sheets were suffocating him, he was drowning drowning drowning drowning—

“stop!” the cry tore out of his throat, burning as it went. "no, stop! stop!"

but it didn't stop; of course it didn't. andrew curled into himself, as tightly as he could manage, as if that would be enough to protect him from the monsters in his own mind. tears dripped down his cheeks and he tried to scrub them off, tired—always so tired—of crying, of the way memories could reduce him to a blubbering mess, shame coiling in his stomach. he shouldn’t be crying. crying was bad, crying only pleased them—like it when you beg, AJ—but he couldn’t stop couldn’t stop couldn’t stop. each breathless sob rattled him, the fabric of his armbands growing damp with tears.

so pretty, aren’t you? so beautiful like this.

just be quiet! you stupid brat, would you just shut up!

why so silent? i always liked it when you cried.

andrew recoiled physically from the voices, whimpering and pressing both hands over his ears, but it wasn’t enough to drown them out; they grew louder, words blurring together until all he could hear was the malice, the lust, the greed, everything terrible that made him want to throw up throw up throw up

just say please and it’ll all be over.

he didn’t know where he was. he was a leaf caught in a hurricane, helpless and bared open for the taking, with no way to ground himself or reach steady ground. he was lost, and he had been lost all his life, and he would be lost all his life, and somewhere someone was crying, and for a moment he thought it must be the child in him, the child he’d tried to deny for so long, the child who’d died too early, who deserved better, so much better—

just say please and it’ll all be over.

andrew scratched at his throat, slamming the side of his head with the heel of his hand as if that would be enough to remove the voices, but the pain just blurred together with the phantom ones of dragging hands and heavy weight between his legs, no—he needed it to stop, someone make it stop, please, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop—

“please!”

the loud cry bounced off the walls. andrew shuddered and sobbed harder, pressing both hands to his mouth.

"make it stop! please! please!"

he bit his tongue around the word so hard he tasted blood, but now that he’d said it he couldn’t stop, repeating it in an endless litany. it spilled out of him with thorny edges, tearing everything in its wake, until he was shaking so hard he could barely say it, blinded by his own tears. he was lost, lost, lost, always alone, so alone, just wishing—wishing—wishing—but he could not place what he wanted, did not know anything except for the single word bouncing around his skull, did not know what he was begging for but begging all the same, voice cracking and body shuddering, whispering the word as if it could save him.

new memories flooded his brain, triggered by the utterance of a word he had spent years trying to forget. his muscles convulsed with the horror and strain. his mind went static. he was helpless, broken down, caught up in the storm, unable to break free from his own head no matter how hard he begged or clawed at his own skin. and he was sobbing, so hard he couldn’t breathe, more than he had in months, making loud noises of anguish that sounded like they were coming from someone else, pleading so loudly his throat burned.

through the memories he heard something slam in the distance and flinched at the sound. there were footsteps, loud, heading towards him, and he cried out in terror, scrambling back until his back hit something solid. he tried to blink away the tears so he could watch the door, so he could catch the exact moment the handle turned, but his vision was too blurry and their onset too swift. immobile with consuming, paralysing horror, andrew bit down on his knuckles, shaking all over. he didn’t want to get hurt again. he didn’t want them to find him. he couldn’t go through it again. he couldn’t go through it again.

the door opened. andrew cried out, flinching back into the wall with his entire body. he cowered, shielding his head with both arms, trying to appear as small as possible. he wanted to fight, but he was too afraid; he was seven again and waiting for his bedroom door to open, he was nine again and bleeding from the punishment he’d received because he’d bit his foster father’s arm, he was a child, he was just a child, he didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve this—

“—drew! hey, what’s wrong? can you hear me? 'drew? 'drew? andrew!”

the voice was frantic. it sounded eons away and simultaneously too close for comfort. it was vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place it, too buried in memories of the past. he didn’t dare open his eyes, whimpering and pressing back, away from the person in front of him. “please,” he whispered, voice cracking. “please. please.”

what was he asking for? he didn’t know. he didn’t know, but he was desperate, so desperate for relief, for a lifeline amongst the chaos, for a way out of the hellscape of his mind. “please,” he said again, voice cracking. sobs tore out of him, winding him with their force—he couldn’t believe he had stooped so low as to beg again, to beg and to not even know what he was begging for or to whom. he pressed both hands over his mouth, trying to hold the words and sounds in, to be silent, to shut up, but it wasn’t working, why couldn’t he—why couldn’t he—

“andrew.” the voice was quiet. familiar. “andrew, it’s me. neil. whatever you’re seeing, you’re not there. you’re with me. neil.”

neil? awareness shot through andrew. “neil,” he choked out around a relieved sob. neil was here. neil would keep him safe. wouldn’t he?

no one can keep you safe, a voice in his head snarled, and he shuddered at the truth in the words, whimpering. he’d never been safe, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise. no one could protect him from his own mind. and yet—and yet, he craved the familiarity of neil’s touch, wanted to be in his arms, wanted to be as close as possible. “neil,” he whispered, reaching out blindly. “neil, please. please.” his voice cracked.

“hey, i’m here.” warm hands caught his between them, steadying its shaking. they pulled his hand forward until it was pressed against something soft and warm. there was a soft thudding beneath his palm. neil’s heartbeat, he realised, and curled his hand into a fist with a sob.

it wasn’t enough. he could feel his mind splintering again, ready to drag him deeper into its abyss. the thought made him cry, made him shudder and gasp in fright—he didn’t want things to get worse, he didn’t want to remember more than he already had. “please,” he whispered again, pressing in neil’s direction. “neil. neil.”

“drew,” neil answered. he squeezed andrew’s hand. “i’m here. you’re safe with me. i’ll protect you.”

andrew was too exhausted to try pick neil's words for lies. he believed them, let himself believe them, pressing closer until neil got the hint and hugged him, pulling him into his lap so he was cradling andrew in his arms. andrew pressed close, muffling his sobs into neil’s shirt. “sorry,” he managed to say, shaking so hard his teeth chattered. “sorry. i’m—sorry. so sorry. i’m so sorry.”

“for what?”

“for—for this. for being like this. i’m a—i'm such a mess. i’m so sorry. you—you deserve better, you deserve better than me—”

“hey, no.” neil pulled back. andrew blinked open his heavy eyes, staring at neil through a sheen of tears. neil’s gaze was blue, bluer than the ocean, and it made something settle in andrew’s chest. neil’s expression softened and he cupped andrew’s face with both hands, rubbing away the tears trickling down his cheeks with his thumbs. andrew whimpered at the touch, lashes fluttering. “you’re not a burden, andrew. not to me. never.”

andrew shook his head, crying harder. “don’t lie,” he said with a hiccup, swaying into neil with exhaustion. he could barely keep his eyes open. “don’t lie to me. you deserve better than me. i’m never going to get better. i’m always going to remain like this. you deserve better than that. you—you—”

neil shook his head. “hey, don’t. we’ll have this conversation later, okay? you’re exhausted, and you need to rest.”

andrew scrubbed at his face in frustration. “no,” he said. “let me—please—”

“no. later, i promise.” neil’s brow furrowed, and he smoothed a thumb over andrew’s brow. “you don’t have to say it. ‘please.’ you don’t need to beg me for anything. i’ll give you anything. everything. whatever you need.”

the words broke down the last of andrew’s barriers. he shuddered and buried his face in neil’s neck, overcome with loud, hysterical sobs. he couldn’t stop. he couldn’t stop. he couldn’t stop. he hated crying, hated crying in front of neil, but he couldn’t stop. he couldn’t stop.

“hey, it’s okay.” neil smoothed a hand over the back of his head, carding his fingers through andrew’s hair. “hey, it’s okay to cry. don’t be ashamed. it’s okay. i’m here for you.”

the words, coupled with the tender gesture that andrew had been deprived of for so many months spent away from neil, made andrew’s tears double. he shuddered and arched into neil’s touch, shaking hard.

“neil,” he said, pressing closer. “neil.”

“andrew,” neil replied. “it’s okay. i’m here. i’ve got you. you can let go now. it’s okay to let go. i’ll keep you safe.”

andrew nodded, overwhelmed. he wept until he ran out of tears. neil didn’t let go, not even for a second, whispering soothing words into andrew's ear that he couldn’t catch but was comforted by nevertheless. he was surrounded on all sides, surrounded by neil, and he was safe. safe. safe. finally safe. neil was safe. neil was home. neil wouldn’t let anything hurt him. neil would keep him safe. he was safe, and he wasn’t alone anymore. he didn’t need to be alone anymore.

the tears faded under the sheer relief that filled him, and so did the whimpers and hiccups that came with them. andrew could no longer keep his eyes open, weighed down with fatigue. “neil,” he croaked, still in awe that neil was with him, that neil was here at all.

neil stroked a hand over his back and hummed. andrew nuzzled closer, rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt. “can you stand?” neil asked.

andrew shook his head. he couldn’t move, couldn’t even sit upright, leaning into neil with all his weight and trusting him to hold him up.

“okay. that’s okay.” neil stroked his hair again and andrew whined at the touch, leaning into it. he couldn’t even bring himself to embarrassed at how uncharacteristically needy he was acting, too out of it to care. neil hummed again and, to andrew’s delight, raised both hands to his head, stroking and scratching and massaging with firm fingers until all the remaining tension had drained out of andrew’s body and he was making soft sounds of contentment, shifting closer to neil and breathing him in.

“sleep,” neil whispered. “you’re safe here. you can sleep. let yourself rest, ‘drew. i’ve got you.”

andrew nodded and yawned, believing neil with all his heart. 

he was asleep in mere minutes. it was the fastest he had ever dozed off.

Chapter Text

neil stretched and picked at the damp patches on his shirt. andrew had fallen into a sleep so deep he hadn’t even stirred when neil half-lifted, half-dragged him to the bed and dumped him on it. he bent and picked up the pillows and blankets scattered on the floor, dropping them next to andrew on the bed. he eased a hand under andrew’s head and lifted it, placing a pillow underneath, before tucking andrew into what he knew was his favourite blanket, even if he denied it vehemently.

neil sighed and stared at andrew, heart aching. his partner’s brows were furrowed even in sleep, mouth small. how had he never noticed the stress lines on andrew’s face while he slept? now that he thought of it, andrew had often been awake before him on most mornings. had he even slept? considering the dark bags like bruises beneath his eyes, probably not.

neil sat down next to andrew on the bed. he reached out and smoothed out the creases in andrew’s brow. even in his sleep, andrew turned his face into the warmth of his hand. neil had suspected that andrew might be touch-starved, especially considering his aversion to touch and the solo life he lived in denver, but andrew’s unfiltered reactions to his touch that day had proved it. neil suddenly regretted all the time he had wasted over the past two weeks not touching andrew or holding his hand.

andrew’s eyes were swollen, and tear tracks lined his pale cheeks. he looked so tired and worn out it made neil’s chest hurt. he let out a long, shuddering breath, bowing his head and closing his eyes. there was an insistent ache in his chest and he curled his hand over it. he had never heard andrew cry before, let alone cry like that. he’d wept like a child, tears full of an anguish that had cut neil to his core.

and he’d begged. said ‘please’—the word he hated, the one that triggered him even just by listening to it—and neil reeled at the thought. andrew had begged. he didn’t understand why, or for what, but he’d pleaded, whispered ‘please’ over and over like a broken record., each repeated utterance leaving neil’s heart in pieces.

neil didn’t know what had gone wrong. andrew had seemed just fine when he’d left for his morning run—if he hadn’t, he would have never left—he’d been his usual grumpy self. what had gone wrong? had he been pretending? had something happened when neil was gone?

neil didn’t know, and he didn’t want to waste breath on conjecture. he looked at andrew’s face again, tracking the red, angry lines that ran down his throat and disappeared below his collar. he’d done that to himself. had clawed at his own skin until he’d bled.

neil pressed a hand over his mouth. had this ever happened before? he couldn’t remember ever seeing such marks on andrew’s skin before, but he remembered all the times andrew had been on video calls wearing turtlenecks, even in the heat of summer, complaining that the air conditioning in his flat made him shiver. did it really? had he been hiding them from neil?

the thought baffled neil. andrew was an honest man, who valued truth over everything else. he wouldn’t lie directly to neil’s face like that. but lying by omission… it was certainly possible. he couldn’t even begin to fathom why, but he remembered with an uncomfortable jolt of his heart the words andrew had whispered between the sobs that rattled him. you deserve better than me.

he’d repeated it, and neil was sure he’d have kept on doing it if he hadn’t stopped him. he had never thought of andrew as someone with low self-esteem, nor would he ever call him insecure, but it made sense the more he thought of it. hadn’t andrew’s deal with aaron just been a desperate attempt to keep him close and not lose him? and neil remembered him after baltimore, the way he wouldn’t let neil out of sight and the fear and concern that lurked in his eyes whenever he returned from a run too late.

neil’s heart ached at the thought. he would never leave andrew, not for anything in the world. had he not conveyed it to andrew enough? was there something in andrew’s mind that had made his fear of abandonment double to the point he preferred to hide his own suffering from neil?

neil blew out a breath. he stood up, picking up andrew’s phone from the nightstand. he scrolled through his contact list until he reached bee’s number, glancing at the time as he did so. he could call her; it wouldn’t be too early or too late in palmetto. he knew andrew wouldn’t mind if it was from his phone. neil’s own phone was lying dead somewhere.

the truth was, seeing andrew like that had frightened neil. andrew had been stuck in his head, hadn’t even heard neil for several long, excruciating minutes. neil had never seen him in such a state before. he had been cowering, literally physically cowering—andrew, who was proud and strong and stubborn and unwilling to bow to anyone. and he’d let out a cry of terror when neil had entered the room; had thought he was someone else, had thought neil would hurt him. and oh, the way he’d cried and whimpered in fright, the way he had shook so hard all over and pressed so close to neil, as if trying to sink into him and disappear.

if their roles were reversed, it would have made sense. neil was needy when he broke down, needed touch for reassurance. it was the best if it was andrew’s, of course—andrew could ground him in a way no one else could. but he’d never imagined andrew to ever have such a severe breakdown, to be in a situation where he would be craving touch the way neil did.

the most worrisome thought, though, was that andrew might have been hiding this from him. that he had had several such episodes all alone in this tiny flat in denver without anyone around to reassure him that he was safe or to even let him know he wasn’t in the past anymore. he thought back to the nights he had called and andrew hadn’t picked up, to the nights he had called and andrew hadn’t said anything, to the nights he had called and andrew’s breathing had been shaky over the line.

why hadn’t he ever said anything to andrew? when had he chosen to ignore the signs? he was so selfish, so focused on the comfort he could get, with no regard to andrew’s own well-being! he had constantly promised himself he wouldn’t be like the men in andrew’s past, who had taken and taken without ever giving, but here he was! exactly the same!

neil gritted his teeth and stood up. he strode to the adjacent balcony and breathed deeply. something warm brushed his feet, making him jump, but it was only sir, coiling around his legs and purring.

neil sat down and petted her, calmed by her purring. with his other hand he tapped on bee’s number and raised the phone to his ear.

she picked up after on the first ring. “hello?”

“hi, betsy,” neil said, a bit apologetically; she must have been expecting andrew. “it’s me, neil.”

“hello, neil,” bee said, her voice calm as ever. neil didn’t admit it still, but agreeing to andrew’s nth suggestion to attend therapy with bee had been one of the best things he could have ever done for himself. “is andrew alright?”

“yeah—um. he’s asleep. sorry i’m calling from his phone; mine’s probably dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“ah, i see.”

neil nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. he ran a hand through his hair. “um, something happened today. with andrew. but i’m not sure—i’m not sure i should be telling you without his consent.”

“whatever you say remains between us,” bee reminded him. “while it is true that i am also his therapist, i will not let anything i hear from you about him influence my sessions with him.”

neil nodded. he let out a long breath, and did not say something for a long while. “i went out for a run this morning,” he said at last. “the way i always do. but when—but when i came back, andrew was—”

he stopped. “i’m not sure how to explain. but he was… i think he was having a panic attack. i found him in the bedroom, in the corner, and he didn’t realise who i was at first. he was frightened of me. i think—i think he was having a flashback.”

“i see,” bee said.

“yeah.” neil nodded again. he gnawed on a nail. “he was crying,” he said, very quietly. “he was crying very hard, betsy. i’ve never—i’ve never seen him cry before. i thought—i thought he would throw up; he was crying that hard. and he—and he was. he kept on saying ‘please’.”

bee did not react except for a sharp intake of breath. “i’m sorry to hear that. what did you do?”

“he wanted me to hold him, so i did, until he stopped crying and fell asleep. betsy, i—” neil stopped. swallowed hard. “i’ve never seen him like that. i was frightened. i want—i want to help him, but i don’t know how.”

betsy hummed. he could hear her tapping something over the line—it was probably her pen. “i understand your concern, neil. i think the best course of action is to communicate your fears with andrew. he will appreciate that you care enough to ask what to do in such a situation, and you can work out a solution together.”

neil nodded. “yeah, i’m gonna do that. when he wakes up. we’re gonna talk.” he swallowed again. “betsy… it occurred to me… has this been happening since a very long time? it occurred to me that he might have been having panic attacks like these without ever telling me about them. sometimes—sometimes i felt that he wasn’t quite. present, during our calls. but i never asked, and i hate that i didn’t.”

“that is an understandable feeling, neil. however, it is not something to feel guilt over. as i recall, the past year has been difficult for the both of you, not just him, and it is only natural to assume that your partner will confide in you if there is something bothering him. that andrew didn’t was his own decision, regardless of whether it was right or wrong, and it would be unwise to not respect it. there is also no use flagellating yourself for something that has already passed.”

“yeah.” neil let out a breath. “i guess you’re right. i think i’m gonna talk about it with him anyway, so i can know for sure.”

betsy hummed again. “that seems wise. here is a word of advice: remember to be objective about the situation and as non-judgemental as possible. sometimes, people withdraw in times of distress instead of reaching out, and you must not fault them for that. it is often involuntary and born of instinct.”

neil nodded. “okay.”

“is there anything else you wished to talk to me about?”

“uh, no.” neil exhaled. “i’ll catch you during our next session.”

“of course.” betsy’s voice went from professional to warm. “thank you for reaching out to me, neil. i am happy to see how far you have come.”

“yeah.” neil chucked; just over a year ago, he wouldn’t have reached to betsy first even if it was a matter of life and death. he really had come far from those days, where he didn’t trust psychologists as far as he could throw them. “i’m glad, too. see you.”

“take care, neil. see you too.”

the line went dead with a faint beep. neil stared at the blank screen without really seeing it, mind again circling through images of andrew’s tear-stained face, the fear and pain contorting his features, the loud sobs of anguish he’d let out.

he shook himself free of his thoughts and stood up. andrew would be hungry when he woke up; there must be ice-cream in the fridge, and he could prepare a cup of hot chocolate just the way he liked it…

neil stopped by andrew’s bed. king had curled up on andrew’s chest and was purring loudly. the tension had drained from andrew’s face, and he had a hand curled over king, almost possessively, lips curled up at the edges. the sight made relief sweep through neil; he was glad andrew had bought the cats to keep him company.

as he watched, sir jumped up and curled on the pillow right next to andrew’s head. she started to groom his hair, which made neil huff out a laugh, especially when andrew didn’t even stir save to bring a hand up in his sleep and bury it in her fur. she, too, started to purr. neil watched in amusement. this must be routine for the three, he thought with a snort, and turned towards the kitchen, filled with newfound confidence and hope. whatever the problem, he was confident he and andrew could work through it. they had made it so far, after all.

Chapter Text

when andrew woke up, it was dark outside. he stretched, grimacing at the drool he had to wipe away from his mouth; he hadn’t slept so deeply since quite a while. but then, considering the breakdown of epic proportions he had, he wasn’t surprised.

he lay in bed for several long minutes, trying to parse through his emotions. he was mortified, he realised, although the feeling clung to his skin like poorly-cut cloth. neil had witnessed him at his worst—his absolute worst; andrew had never had a panic attack that severe, nor had he ever slipped so far into his mind in the span of a single morning. he was relieved, he realised, that neil had been there to pull him there from the edge, unsure what he might have done had he been alone. the scratches lining his throat were testament enough to the fact. but, unlike his fears and the worst-case scenarios that constantly dogged him, neil had stayed. had pulled him closer instead of away.

in that moment, with that realisation filling up his throat, andrew was filled with a deep swell of emotion. it made his eyes burn and his throat close up, but he did not have the courage to put a name to it.

instead, he got off the bed and headed slowly into the living room, exhaustion still pulling at his bones.

neil was on the couch, with king and sir sandwiching him on either side, watching an exy game onscreen. the sight made a twinge of regret curl in andrew’s chest; he remembered the plans they had made for that afternoon.

the cats noticed him first, as they always did. king stood up and walked to him, rubbing against his legs with a purr. an exhausted smile tugged at andrew’s mouth and he crouched, stroking his hands through her long fur. sir joined them, hopping to andrew’s shoulders and draping herself over the back of his neck. she was so close that her purrs sounded like a lawnmower, but the sound was familiar enough that andrew relaxed. he petted her head with one hand, and did not protest when she, as usual, started to groom his hair.

when he looked up, neil was watching him with a soft, tender look in his eyes that simultaneously cut andrew open and pieced him together. “hey,” neil said with a small smile. “are you feeling better?”

andrew nodded. he settled down fully on the ground, comfortable where he was and with the distance between them. “yeah.” his voice was hoarse, startlingly so, almost as if he had rubbed sandpaper over his throat; he touched the front of his next on instinct and winced at the burn of the shallow cuts there.

neil was watching his hand, a furrow between his brow. “was that…” he swallowed. “drew. was that the first time something like this happened?”

andrew gulped. finding himself suddenly incapable of speaking, he mutely shook his head.

empathetic sorrow filled neil’s eyes, but there was no pity—never any pity. “oh, love,” he said softly, standing up and joining andrew on the floor. he extended a hand, and andrew placed his own hand in it, watching as neil raised his hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles with a tenderness that made his eyes burn. “i’m so sorry to hear that. it must not have been easy dealing with it alone.”

andrew nodded. he stroked a hand over sir’s head, leaning his face into her warmth when she started to lick his cheek. “the cats. they help.”

“i’m glad.” neil bit his lip. “i’m sorry i couldn’t be there for you. here. before.”

andrew shook his head with a frown. “no,” he said. “that’s not on you. i was the one who didn’t. who didn’t tell you. you didn’t know.”

neil shook his head. his grip on andrew’s hand tightened, but not enough to make him feel trapped. “the signs were there, but i didn’t acknowledge them. that’s on me.”

andrew let out a breath. “you were going through struggles of your own.” he glanced away, down at king, who had shifted so she was sitting on his lap. she stared back at him with her sharp, intelligent eyes, then meowed and rubbed her head against his stomach. andrew closed his eyes and buried his hand in her fur. “i didn’t. i didn’t want you to worry, neil. you had so much on your plate already.”

“andrew, hey. look at me.”

andrew opened his eyes. neil’s gaze was steady, but fierce; he reached out, and at andrew’s nod, cradled andrew’s face. the touch burned pleasantly and he leaned into it.

“andrew, you are not a burden to me. it doesn’t matter how much i have on my plate, i am always here to listen. you… you mean a lot to me. and nothing about your trauma or your past can change that, alright?”

andrew nodded. he swallowed hard, eyes burning with sudden emotion. he looked away from the piercing blue of neil’s eyes, stroking a hand over king’s back. a part of him was in utter disbelief, unable to comprehend the fact that someone as bright and incandescent and wonderous like neil would choose him, almost desperate to scoff and deem his words a lie, but andrew knew better. neil would never lie to him, never again, and he was as crooked and sharp at the edges as andrew was. their jagged edges fit together.

he had been a fool to doubt neil’s commitment and resolve. because this was it, for both of them, and he had known that for a very long time. so andrew raised his head and touched neil’s jaw, drawing him forward into a soft, tender kiss.

it was a promise and apology all in one, an oath of trust and love and honesty for future days to come.

they would be okay. he would be okay.