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The first time Neil wakes up on the couch in the living room, he thinks he must’ve fallen asleep during movie night. It doesn’t exactly sound right, because he’s pretty sure he remembers climbing in his bunk earlier after nearly falling asleep on his Spanish textbook.
Neil wakes up in a daze with his bangs and the collar of his t-shirt stuck to his skin with a thin layer of sweat. His heart thunders behind his chest and his pulse races in his neck. The remnants of a nightmare he can’t remember, it seems. He peels himself off of the couch and glances in the kitchen to the small numbers blinking above the stove. It’s near three in the morning and Neil’s eyes are heavy with exhaustion.
He nearly rams into the door on his blind stumble back to his bedroom. Luckily he’s out again by the time his head hits the pillow. Whatever nightmares may have been plaguing him before dissipated into blissful nothingness.
Neil doesn’t think much of the incident (not that he would even call it that) over the next several days. With the season in a lull, midterms rapidly approaching, and most of the rest of his free time spent with Andrew, he doesn’t have time to think about it. He’s tired, but he’s always tired, so he pays little mind to the bags hanging under his eyes or the deep ache in his joints when he climbs into bed at night.
He’s not losing much sleep, but he doesn’t feel rested either. When he peels his eyes open to the sound of his alarm each day, the exhaustion is just as annoyingly prevalent as it had been the previous day. It sinks into his bones and stays there, festering like an infected wound. Any hope for studying for midterms is thrown from the window the second Neil realizes he can’t sit with his notebook open for longer than a minute before his eyes start to go hazy.
Two days later, he wakes up on the couch again. This time he has one sneaker on and his backpack is sitting at the end of the couch, half-packed with a mess of folders and clothes sticking out of it. Neil sits up, dazed and shaky with his heart pounding in his throat. He knows for a fact he had fallen asleep in his own bed earlier that night, and last he remembers his backpack was packed and tucked underneath his desk.
Neil’s heart doesn’t settle down again until he brings all of his things back into his room and takes the single sneaker off. Part of him considers that this could be some elaborate prank. Nicky would definitely try pulling something like this, and maybe Matt would join in if Nicky was feeling particularly persuasive. But Neil quickly disregards this possibility. It would be impossible for them to do any of this to Neil (let alone get him down from his lofted bunk) without him waking up in the process.
Still, Neil would be lying if he said he isn’t the least bit unsettled.
It’s fine, he insists. He’s fine. A little bit of restlessness never killed him. If anything it helped him survive on the road all those years. Neil tries to write it off as some unused adrenaline starting to build up from not having practice for a few days. Once things start going back to normal and Neil is less antsy, he’ll be able to sleep better.
Andrew, surprisingly, is the one who says something first. He has his forehead nuzzled against Neil’s. If it was anyone else, it would be an affectionate gesture, but Andrew’s head is hard and heavy against Neil’s. Their lips are swollen, and Neil feels particularly breathless in the thin space between them.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Andrew asks after a moment of catching his breath, sounding more annoyed and inconvenienced than concerned. Then he pushes Neil back by a hand on his shoulder.
Neil can’t help the disappointment that festers in his chest as Andrew moves him away. He stares at Andrew’s bored expression with raised eyebrows. He licks at his lips and fumbles for a response. Eventually, he settles for, “You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific.”
Andrew leans back on his hands and examines Neil with a leveling gaze. Maybe it’s the sleepiness that has Neil focused on the way the setting sun turns Andrew’s eyes into pools of honey. “You look like shit.”
Neil pulls a face. “You really know how to set the mood.”
If looks could kill, the frigid glare Andrew shoots at him would stop Neil’s heart in an instant. Instead, the corners of Neil’s lips twitch into a weak smirk. Andrew’s stare is silent and demanding, and Neil knows the question before Andrew even asks it. Not that he will. He knows Neil too well to waste his breath.
“I’m fine,” Neil answers anyway, and Andrew is on his feet before he even finishes.
Andrew brushes his knees off and moves towards the ledge of the roof, backlit by the setting sun. If Neil was one for sentimental things, he would savor the sight and the way Andrew’s hair seemed to glow gold beneath the retreating rays of sunlight. Maybe he’s a bit more tired than he thought.
Neil stays there a moment, sitting back on his heels as he stares at Andrew’s back helplessly. With nothing with the sight of his hunched shoulders to go off of, Neil can’t begin to guess why Andrew’s pushing him away yet again. Andrew lights a cigarette and drags on it for several minutes before he turns to face Neil. His eyes are analytical. He taps a few embers clinging to the filter of his cigarette loose.
“A truth for a truth,” Andrew says. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
Leave it to Andrew and his never-ending bluntness to drill right to the point. In a way, Neil’s grateful for it. He never has to second-guess with Andrew. He always says exactly what he is thinking, even if it’s prying, intrusive, or downright insulting. Though it also means once Andrew’s found a half-healed scab, he won’t quit messing with it until he peels the damn thing off and forces Neil to shed yet another layer he isn’t ready to let go of yet.
Neil can only sigh in defeat as he leans back on his hands and stares at the scuffs on his sneakers. “I’m not not sleeping.”
“Semantics, Neil.” Andrew presses the cigarette nub on the ledge of the rooftop and lights a second one.
Defeat rushes through Neil as he leans forward and rests his forehead in his hands. With the delightful buzz of Andrew’s kisses fading away, all that remains is how bone-achingly tired he is. It doesn’t matter how much Neil tries to squirrel around the reality of it, because Andrew’s always been remarkably skilled at reading through his efforts.
“I am sleeping,” Neil insists. He cards a hand through his hair. “I sleep, but it doesn’t ever really feel like I do.” He chooses to omit waking up on the couch twice in one week— omits the half-packed backpack and clamminess of fading adrenaline in his veins. He’s not so sure how Andrew will react to something like that.
Andrew regards him with a cold, disconnected stare that Neil thinks could be mistaken for consideration. It’s probably exhaustion talking.
“Nightmares?”
Neil hesitates before shaking his head. Nightmares don’t quite capture it. Besides neither he nor Andrew are strangers to such a thing. If it isn’t Neil waking up in a cold sweat on the nights they share a room, it’s Andrew. It’s a cruel game that bounces between them. The early mornings Neil wakes up to Andrew’s distressed whimpering are the mornings Neil dreads the most. He wonders how Andrew feels about his nightmares from time to time, but this is a different animal entirely.
“If I’m having them, I don’t remember them,” he admits.
Andrew hums. It’s a dark sound at the back of his throat he tends to make when deep in thought. Neil can’t help but wonder if Andrew’s even aware he makes the noise. Everything about Andrew seems so carefully measured that something as simple as an unconscious habit piques Neil’s interest.
“I’ll stay with you tonight,” Andrew says and nothing about the words is phrased like a question.
Neil stares at Andrew, stares at the wisps of smoke that filter from the cigarette and curl around his face before disappearing into the rapidly approaching dusk sky. It’s been a while since Neil spent the night in Andrew’s room. Most of the time Andrew’s the one that initiates things first, trailing after Neil into his room and climbing into bed next to him. At times there’s a bit of an unspoken agreement. Other times, however, especially when Andrew’s nightmares are particularly bad, he pulls away and they sleep in separate rooms.
Neil understands. Of course he does, so he can’t help the dull jolt of surprise that rockets through him when Andrew makes the announcement with such leisure. Second-guessing Andrew’s decisions is a fatal mistake, but one that Neil in his current state of exhaustion and general uneasiness is bound to make.
“Are you sure?” He lifts his gaze to meet Andrew’s. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t. You’re not usually this stupid,” is all Andrew says before he smothers his last cigarette and pulls himself to his feet.
Neil can’t help but smirk at Andrew’s jab and bites back the urge to spit something sharp in return. It’s been days since he’s felt Andrew’s warmth next to him, and he doesn’t want to give Andrew any reasons to go back on his unspoken promise.
It takes Andrew two strides to reach the roof access door and Neil doesn’t need any other indication to climb to his feet and follow him down the stairs. Andrew silently leads the march from the roof, down to the Foxes’ floor, and into Neil’s dorm. Many of the others are out, which Neil is thankful for. Days he has time to spend alone with Andrew are few and far between lately, and Neil is slightly disgruntled by the idea that Andrew will make him spend that time sleeping instead.
Neil’s feet carry him to the bathroom where he splashes his face with warm water and brushes his teeth before returning to his bedroom. Andrew’s perched on his bed with the covers peeled back. Most of the lights are turned off save for a single desk lamp that casts a comfortable glow over the darkest corners of the room.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Neil says in vain.
“Say that to the bags under your eyes.” Andrew’s hand hovers near the hem of Neil’s hoodie and hesitates there. “Yes or no?”
Neil nods and Andrew helps him peel his Palmetto State hoodie up and over his head. Andrew then pulls the knives from his armbands and tucks them beneath Neil’s pillow. As Neil lies on his side, Andrew slots himself behind him and drapes an arm over Neil’s side. It’s a comfortable system: Andrew with his back to the wall and with Neil’s back to Andrew’s chest. This way Neil can feel the steady thrumming of Andrew’s heart against his back and Andrew can maintain control. Neil doesn’t mind handing it over to him.
“Sleep,” Andrew says quietly after a moment. Neil can feel his warm breath against the nape of his neck.
It’s not easy to ignore such a request, not when Neil’s eyelids are already so heavy and Andrew’s heartbeat is like a mesmerizing metronome lulling him to sleep. The weight of his arm across Neil’s waist anchors him to the bed and brings him enough peace of mind to let him drift off.
“Get up. We’ve got to go, Abram. Get up!”
Neil comes to when he hits the floor. His head cracks against the metal frame of the bed and sends stars through his vision, but they mean little with the burst of fear turning his blood to ice. His legs are itching to run, but he’s frozen to the ground. He tries to get up once, twice, three times before he realizes that the weight keeping him down is a pair of arms gripping him by the shoulders.
“Neil! Neil.” The voice that barks at him is deep and raspy with sleep, so unlike the woman he could’ve sworn he just heard ringing in his ears.
He blinks and suddenly the arms are connected to a man with blond hair. Andrew.
The sight of his eyes under the warm light of the lamp across the room immediately calms the surge of adrenaline blossoming in his chest. Andrew doesn’t let him go for a moment. Instead, he pins Neil to the ground by his shoulders, hair sticking up in every direction as he searches Neil’s expression for signs of clarity. He must find what he’s looking for because he eventually lets Neil’s shoulders go and pulls him back up to the ledge of the bed.
“What the hell?”
Neil reaches a hand up to cradle the aching knot on the back of his head. “I dunno. What happened?”
“You tell me,” Andrew deadpans. “You practically launched yourself out of bed and hit the ground.”
His hands hover over Neil’s back. His question was silent. Only when Neil nods does Andrew rest his hands on Neil’s nape and the small of his back. The touch grounds Neil immediately through the fading fog of fear over his eyes like a haze. It lingers on his tongue with the weight of ash. Neil has to swallow it down to even get a proper breath.
The ring of his mother’s voice is still so loud, so persistent. He swears he can hear it in the white noise of the lamp’s humming or the sound of cars on the street near the base of the tower. It’s a sound so sharp and terrible that Neil’s ears will bleed if he focuses on it for too long. It’s a sound that punches his chest with unfathomable grief and disgust all at once. With that voice comes the weight of her heavy knuckles against his chin and back, the fingernails that dig into his skin when she hauls him out of bed and shoves his backpack in his arms. With those memories comes the terrible anxiety that sinks into his gut and crawls beneath his skin with the realization that he needs to run. That it’s time to leave one life behind and restart the next.
Fingers snap in front of his eyes. A flinch tears through his entire body, but he can’t move very far, because Andrew has the back of his neck in a tight grip. Andrew’s eyes are close to his now, staring at him with a knot between his brows.
“Neil. You with me?” Another snap of his fingers.
Numbly, Neil nods. He pitches forward, but Andrew doesn’t move back. He takes on Neil’s weight as he slumps forward and presses their foreheads together. Neil’s racing heart is steadied by the ghost of Andrew’s breath against the bridge of his nose.
He isn’t sure how long they stay like that, Andrew’s body against his like an anchor keeping him from drifting too far from shore. But when Andrew finally pulls away, Neil isn’t ready. A breathy sigh falls from his lips, and he nearly pitches off balance trying to chase after him. Andrew keeps him in place with the hand on his neck. Neil pries his eyes open to look Andrew in the eye, properly this time. It’s much easier with the static and his mother’s voice cleared from his brain.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Neil licks his lips. “Not really.”
“Do you want me to stay?”
It’s the easiest, “Yes,” Neil has ever whispered.
Andrew doesn’t need anything else. He pulls Neil further up the bed and pulls him back into the same position. The hand usually coiled around his waist moves to press against the front of his chest, right over his heart. Neil doesn’t doubt he can feel the skip of Neil’s heartbeat beneath his skin. The strong arm pulls Neil tightly against Andrew’s chest.
Even though the hope for more sleep is long thrown from the window, Neil thinks he can find peace just like this, slotted in Andrew’s arms like he belongs there. Like he has no reason to run.
Sleeping with Andrew is easier. Neil doesn’t wake up on the couch again for another week, and it seems like Andrew’s keen on making himself a permanent fixture in his room for the foreseeable future, not that Neil can complain. Andrew’s presence is just as steadying and strong as it has ever been. For the first time in weeks, Neil feels like he can breathe easy.
He’s foolish to think that ease will last.
Things come crashing down that Friday evening. Nicky comes bustling into the room with two shopping bags hanging off of his arm and a bright, mischievous smile on his face that tells Neil he’s already up to no good. Aaron and Kevin sit by the counter, each with their own cup of instant noodles in their hands. Neil thinks they were talking something about the Revolutionary War when Nicky turned up, but he tuned them out a while ago.
“Good news, everyone. We’ve got supplies for this weekend,” Nicky announces as he sets the bags in front of Aaron and Kevin and starts to rifle through them. He pulls free a bottle of vodka and some other mixers that Neil doesn’t recognize.
Neil turns to face Andrew, who sits next to him on the couch lazily watching whatever show is droning on the television. He must feel the weight of Neil’s stare because his eyes slide to meet Neil’s.
“Columbia?”
Andrew shrugs. “That was the plan.”
Neil frowns. With the week passing by in a blur between sleeping every chance he gets between classes and practice, he failed to realize they were likely overdue for a trip to Eden’s Twilight. Neil doesn’t particularly want to go, not when he still feels shaky on his knees after his morning run or falls behind in practices on account of his sleepiness.
“You don’t want to go,” Andrew says after a moment of steadying the displeased twist in Neil’s expression.
“What? You’re not coming?” Nicky must overhear because he cries out in outrage and circles around to the living area. He stands in front of Neil, blocking his vision of the television. Andrew frowns and leans over onto the arm of the couch to see around him. Neil stares up at Nicky, eyebrows furrowed as guilt already starts sitting in the base of his gut.
“You have to,” Nicky implores, shaking another plastic bag in Neil’s direction. It’s an opaque black shopping bag, unlike the ones from the grocery store Nicky had walked in with. He holds it out for Neil to take, and he does so with hesitation. Neil glances inside, not at all surprised to see folded articles of black clothing. If he isn’t mistaken, he thinks he sees a flash of a chain somewhere in the mess of black.
“I even went out and bought you a new outfit. Andrew texted me your sizes, said you needed another upgrade, and I’m inclined to agree” Nicky says and jolts when Andrew throws a glare in his direction. “What? It’s the truth.”
He turns to Andrew with narrowed eyes and a whisper of, “Traitor.” Then, he turns back to Nicky. “I really don’t need new clothes.”
“You can’t just wear the same outfit every time, Neil. Trust me and Andrew, we know how to make you look good,” Nicky says, and before Neil can even open his mouth to protest, he presses more. “You’re going, Neil. You’re not gonna sit here and brood and practice and do whatever else it is that little Neils do.”
“Little Neils?” Aaron echoes in disgust from the kitchen.
Nicky ignores him and scampers back over to the kitchen where he starts to pack a cooler full of the alcohol and snacks he had snagged. This kind of haul implies they’ll stay at the Columbia house for the rest of the weekend. Thinking about the large bedroom he and Andrew had shared last time they spent the weekend in Columbia, Neik starts to wonder if it may not be such a bad idea. The night at Eden’s leaves much to be desired, but a good night’s rest in a king bed rather than shoved against Andrew on a twin-sized dorm mattress might actually do Neil some good.
This realization is what makes Neil insist to Andrew that he’s fine when Andrew corners him in his bedroom after changing into the all-black ensemble Nicky had bought.
“Don’t let Nicky guilt trip you,” Andrew says from where he leans up against the doorframe. His eyes linger on Neil’s legs a bit longer than usual, but Neil’s sure he’s hallucinating that. Or maybe he’s thinking about how ridiculous Neil looks in the skin-tight, shredded jeans Nicky had forced him in.
“I’m not,” Neil says as he fumbles for the clasp of a silver chain necklace around his neck. Andrew watches him struggle a moment before coming up behind him and swatting Neil’s hands away. He clasps the necklace easily and straightens it around Neil’s neck. A shudder runs down his spine at the sensation of Andrew’s calloused fingers brushing against the small patch of skin above the hem of his turtleneck.
Neil turns to face Andrew. It’s more difficult than it should be to keep his hands at his sides. “He’s… Nicky’s right. I want to get out of here. A weekend away might do some good.”
Andrew doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t agree either. Instead he leads Neil from the room by a hand on his wrist down to the Maserati in the parking lot. Neil never quite gets used to the sight of Andrew against the sleek black car. He climbs into the passenger seat while Nicky, Aaron, and Kevin file into the back row. They peel out of the tower and make their way towards Columbia just as the sun falls beneath the horizon.
Eden’s Twilight is just as chaotic and overwhelming as Neil remembers. The lights are too bright and the bass of the music throbs in his chest and disrupts his heartbeat. He stays on the sidelines and watches as Andrew carts drinks to and from the table. He forgoes any drinks himself, opting for his usual soda. Nicky, Aaron, and Kevin disappear towards the dance floor at some point, and Neil is more than content to sit next to Andrew and feel the heat of his skin despite the stench of booze wafting throughout the club.
But Andrew climbs to his feet not long after finishing his second drink. Neil immediately moves to follow, but Andrew glances back at him with a quick shake of his head. “Bathroom,” he calls over the loud beat of the music. Neil sinks back into his seat and watches Andrew go.
He takes to tracing the edge of his soda can in his wait. His head throbs and part of him regrets ever agreeing to come. He hopes the promise of the bed in the guest bedroom in Columbia is worth this agony. Neil’s not remotely in the mood for partying or crowds or music so loud that it rattles through his entire body. He leans forward against the table and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes in hopes it’ll chase away the ache growing behind them.
When a hand rests on his elbow, Neil immediately flinches back. The hand is far too gentle and tentative. Neil would recognize Andrew by touch alone, and this touch is not his. Instead, it belongs to a man with dark stubble on his chin, jet black hair gelled in every direction, and deep-set eyes. Aches and exhaustion forgotten, Neil sits ramrod straight and stares at the stranger.
“Oh, hey, sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbles. Neil narrows his eyes at him and starts considering worst-case scenarios. A potential connection to the Butcher? Someone with a lingering vengeance and thirst for Nathaniel’s blood? The man has almost a full foot on Neil and at the current angle, Neil can’t tell if he's hiding some kind of weapon. Neil’s fist clenches under the edge of the table.
“You alright?” The man moves in closer, crowding into Neil’s personal space. One hand reaches behind Neil’s back and moves over his shoulders. “I just came by to check on you. You looked really lonely over here, and well, I just had to come closer to see if that face was as pretty up close as it looked from afar.”
Neil’s heart lurches into his throat when he tries to back away but finds himself cornered between the stranger and the corner of the booth he’s wedged into. The man leans in terribly close, so much so that Neil can smell the gin clinging to his bottom lip.
“Do you need glasses or something?” Neil growls under his breath. “Consider your curiosity satiated. You can go now.”
“Aw, come on, baby. Don’t be like that.” The bastard has the audacity to pout at Neil’s words. Even if they are as caustic as acid they don’t deter him from leaning forward into Neil’s space. A rouge hand meanders to Neil’s knee and it takes every fiber of restraint to not punch his lights out at that moment.
“Back off.” Neil isn’t quite sure why he even bothers holding back.
When another hand moves to cup the side of his face, he doesn’t. The string snaps as does Neil’s knuckles against the stranger’s nose. The bone beneath it cracks, the sound satisfying behind the flare of pain that rockets up Neil’s arm. With a strangled cry the stranger falls away and clutches at his face. Blood drips from his nostrils like a faulty faucet.
“What the fuck?” He cries as blood dribbles over his lips and down the crest of his chin. Neil watches with wide eyes as his heart races in his chest. He’s still trapped, and it’s becoming exceedingly difficult to breathe.
Panic sits on his chest like a pile of cinder blocks. Neil clutches at the edge of the table to gather himself, and the flare of pain from his bruising knuckles grounds him. Whatever drunken, flirtatious haze once clouded the stranger’s eyes is long gone; it’s replaced with a dark glare as he reaches for Neil’s neck.
“You little—”
“Can I help you?”
Neil’s head snaps to the new voice at his left. Andrew materializes at his side, hands in his pockets as he stares at the bloodied man. The slope of his shoulders, to the untrained eye, would tell a story of someone unbothered by the sight unfolding in front of him. But Neil catches the slight hitch of his shoulders when he breathes and the sheen of sweat gathering on Andrew’s brow— clear signs he fought his way through the crowd to get to him.
“This little bastard punched me.”
Andrew tilts his head and pulls his hands from his pockets. “I’m sure you deserved it.”
Neil catches sight of his armbands from beneath the sleeves of his shirt. Andrew’s reaching for one of the sheathed blades, but he hesitates there.
“Fuck you, man!” The man snaps back. For a split second, Neil’s afraid he’s dumb enough to push Andrew too far, but to his relief, the stranger tucks his tail between his legs and drags his bruised ego out of the booth. There’s a smear of blood on the vinyl of the seat. Andrew doesn’t move, watching with white knuckles until the man disappears into the crowd.
Andrew seizes Neil by the wrist and hoists him up. First, he considers the blossoming bruises on Neil’s knuckles before proclaiming, “We’re leaving.”
“Andrew,” Neil tries to catch his attention, but his voice is hoarse and lost under the buzzing of music. With his heartbeat still thundering in his chest, Neil allows Andrew to lead him out of Eden’s with a hand on his wrist after gathering Kevin, Nicky, and Aaron from the crowd.
The incident leaves Neil shaken, but more than anything he wants to crawl into bed beside Andrew and succumb to the exhaustion weighing on his eyelids. Andrew is all too eager to comply. He drags Neil into the bedroom and ignores the others’ inquiries about the rapid departure from Eden’s. He shuts the door behind him and locks it before turning to Neil.
“I need to shower,” Neil says when Andrew peels off his turtleneck and unclasps the necklace.
“Later,” Andrew insists. He sheds his own party clothes and exchanges them for something far more comfortable before drawing Neil closer to the edge of the guest bed. Neil complies as he lays next to him.
This time, when Andrew slots in behind him and wraps his arm around Neil’s chest, Andrew’s heartbeat is hammering. It’s far faster than the steady rhythm Neil is used to, and something painful twists in his chest. He doesn’t want to be the reason for Andrew’s uneasiness. He hates himself at that moment. Perhaps if he acted sooner, he could’ve spared Andrew the fear. Maybe if he stayed stubborn and refused to go to Columbia altogether, this would’ve been avoided.
Though Neil wasn’t the best in dealing with theoretical. He can only fix what’s real and now. The constant buzzing of Andrew’s heart against his back is very real.
Neil twists so he can face Andrew. It’s hard to see the color of his eyes in the dark, but he can imagine the way they glow beneath the sunlight. The visual steadies his own restless heart. Andrew stares at him with a cold, detached calculation, but the crease in his brow tells Neil he’s reliving those few seconds over and over again in his head.
“I’m fine, Drew. We’re fine,” Neil whispers. He lifts a hand to hover over Andrew’s left cheek. His fingers twitch in anticipation as he explores Andrew’s face for an answer.
When Andrew nods, Neil places his palm against Andrew’s cool cheek. He strokes his thumb in small circles beneath Andrew’s left eye. Small touches like these are still relatively new for Neil. He’s never been particularly good at receiving nor offering them, but it feels right in his blind attempts at calming Andrew down.
“I wanted to hurt him,” Andrew says as if stating a mere fact.
Neil smiles a bit. “I already did. You don’t have to do all the heavy lifting.”
Andrew’s hum is thoughtful but curt. They stay this way for a while until Neil’s eyes start to grow heavy and it’s difficult to keep his hand steady on Andrew’s cheek. At some point, Andrew grabs his hand and brings it down to rest in the space between them. The way he laces their fingers together is a bit clumsy, but the feel of Andrew’s palm slotted against his own is enough to unravel the remaining tension in Neil’s shoulder, and he’s asleep in minutes.
---
Andrew doesn’t fall asleep. Not for a while. He settles for watching Neil’s face as he slumbers. He’s attuned to every twitch in Neil’s fingers or quirk in his lips. It’s been a habit he’s formed over the past week, committing each and every detail of Neil’s to memory. That way he can always tell when a problem is starting to brew.
The idea of foreign hands on Neil still leaves his skin ablaze. It keeps him awake as he wrestles with every possibility. If Neil had been drunk, if something had been slipped into his drink, if Andrew had been in the bathroom just a second too long. Andrew doesn’t live with regrets; he refuses to. But that doesn’t mean the possibility of ‘what if’ couldn’t terrify him. Especially when it came to Neil.
It seems Neil comes with a lot of unexpected footnotes of hypotheticals and exceptions Andrew isn’t ready to make.
It’s near two in the morning when Neil’s fully asleep and Andrew risks a trip to the kitchen for something to drink. He slips out of the bed and carefully shuts the door behind him. Padding down the stairs, he scowls at the sound of muted conversation.
Kevin and Aaron stand in the kitchen. Aaron has his attention turned to the coffee maker while Kevin nurses a glass of liquor. Kevin looks up when he hears Andrew enter the kitchen, his lips falling open in surprise.
“What the hell was that for?” He asks, still brooding over their premature departure from Eden’s Twilight. Andrew can’t care less about what Kevin and Aaron think about his decision. He wasn’t about to spend another second in that club, not when Neil looked a breath away from falling over and his own nerves were fried to their core.
“We were done,” Andrew puts simply. There’s no point divulging the details. Neil’s safe and in bed, and the stranger’s nose will likely be crooked for the rest of his life. A strange mixture of satisfaction and pride swells in Andrew’s chest.
Aaron cradles his cup of coffee to his chest and leans up against the counter. He stares Andrew down with his lips curved into a tight frown.
“I don’t know why you always bring him around,” Aaron dares to mumble. “At this point you have to realize he’s a trouble magnet.”
Though Andrew is inclined to agree, he glares something sharp— something to rival the edges of his knives— at Aaron. His twin relents with a slouch of his shoulders. Aaron’s eyes flicker towards Kevin, seeking any type of support, but Kevin keeps his attention on his glass.
“Neil’s been off his game,” Kevin mumbles after taking a swig.
“Your unflinching ability to make everything about exy is exhausting.”
Kevin glares at Andrew and slams his glass down. “I didn’t mean just with exy. In general. He looks like a zombie more often than not these days.”
Andrew wants to argue, if not just to instigate something with Kevin in honor of defending Neil, but he can’t. Kevin’s right.
The sound of a door creaking open catches Andrew’s attention, and shortly after a fumbling pair of footsteps follow. Andrew whips around. Neil descends the stairs, his gait clumsy as he half slumps against the wall. For a second Andrew expects him to rub at his eyes and ask Andrew where he went, but instead he keeps walking. Neil steps off the final landing and it’s then that Andrew notices he has his duffle bag dragging behind him. It’s half open with a shirt dragging out behind it. Neil has his sneakers on.
Andrew can’t help but stare at the sight, paralyzed by his own confusion and attempt at understanding the sight. There isn’t much that can render Andrew speechless these days. Neil can’t possibly be thinking of going for a run at this time in the morning. It’s too crazy, even for Neil Josten. But that’s not the worst part of it all.
Neil’s eyes are dazed and glossed over, Andrew can tell as much even halfway across the kitchen. His face is blank and hollow. If Andrew knocks on the front door, no one would be home. Such a vacant expression over icy eyes is deeply unsettling to Andrew. He’s used to the sly tilt of his lips and the spark of anger burning deep in his eyes. Whatever is left in Neil’s sleepiness is nothing more than a shell.
“Neil?” Kevin is the first to speak up. “Where are you going?”
He doesn’t respond. Neil wanders past the kitchen with his duffle dragging on the floor behind him. Andrew stares at the back of his head and doesn’t move until Neil starts for the front door and fumbles with the knob. Andrew springs across the room and reaches for Neil. He grabs him by the back of the neck and turns him around.
Neil’s eyes are even more dull up close, and even though they’re open, Andrew isn’t even sure if Neil’s awake.
“Hey,” Andrew whispers harshly. His fingers flex against the skin of Neil’s nape, but the latter doesn’t as much as blink. “Neil. Hey. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
When Neil doesn’t so much as stir, rather standing there like a ghost with his fingers in a white-knuckled grip around the strap of his bag, Andrew turns for Aaron. “What is wrong with him?”
Aaron’s face screws up. Andrew can’t tell if he’s concerned or perturbed by the sight of Neil’s lifeless body standing in front of them, but Andrew doesn’t particularly care. He doesn’t need Aaron’s opinion or attitude. What he needs are answers, because something is clearly wrong with Neil. He’s never done this before; he’s never looked quite so empty, not even in the wake of Baltimore.
Slowly Aaron climbs to his feet and steps closer, his posture not too dissimilar from approaching a corner animal protecting its last scrap of food. Andrew steps in front of Neil, on instinct.
“Andrew, it’s fine,” Aaron says. “Neil’s fine. I… I think he might be sleepwalking.”
“Sleepwalking.”
Aaron nods. “Yes. Don’t wake him up. It’s better to just take someone who is sleepwalking back to bed.”
Andrew doesn’t need to be told twice. He returns his attention to Neil and struggles to keep his own desperation to shake answers out of Neil in favor of leading him back towards the stairs by the hand on his neck. Aaron and Kevin’s gazes burn into the back of his head, but he ignores them. The two others are his last concern at the moment, not when he can feel Neil’s pulse thunder against the sides of his neck with residual adrenaline.
The climb up the stairs is clumsy, but Andrew maintains his patience as Neil navigates the path back to the guest room in his sleep. Once inside he gently pries the strap of the bag from Neil’s fingers and lets it fall by the door before shutting it behind them. He steers Neil back towards bed.
For once in his life, Neil isn’t stubborn. Soft and pliant with sleep, he sits on the edge when Andrew pushes him down. Andrew kneels to peel the sneakers off of his feet before tossing them aside and pushing Neil gently down towards the pillows. Icy blue eyes flutter shut when Andrew pulls the sheets back over him.
“Don’t think you can run from me, rabbit.” Andrew’s not sure why he whispers it. Neil probably can’t hear him. But he says it anyway, along with a quiet, “Go back to sleep.”
Andrew doesn’t get another second of sleep. He perches on the edge of the bed and watches over Neil. Luckily he stays asleep until sunlight starts to filter through the curtained window on the other side of the room, and only then does Andrew let his head droop.