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neil woke up to music.
he rolled over and buried his face into his pillow with a smile. buying the piano for andrew had been the best decision of his life. it was not a grand pianoforte like the one andrew had played in the cottage they’d gone on vacation to earlier that summer. their house was too small for it, much to andrew’s amusement and neil’s chagrin, but andrew loved it anyway.
to say he loved it would be an understatement. it had been more than three months already but andrew played it obsessively—whether in the middle of the night or the middle of the day, early morning or late evening. neil had become accustomed to returning home from grocery runs and exy practice to music and the sight of his partner swaying along to whatever tune he was playing. he had never seen andrew so relaxed in his life, and it was the best thing ever. he could never tire of it.
taking a deep breath, neil sat up. he took a moment to assess his mood as bee had taught him, relieved to find no shadows lurking at the edges of his consciousness. the previous week had been terrible, packed with nightmares that made him wake up screaming and unable to remember where he was, alongside severe dissociative episodes that left him distanced from his body and reality for hours at a time, unable to be brought back even by andrew’s touch. he’d spent nearly triple the time he usually did in sessions with eloise, his therapist, and had to sleep on the bed in their guest room for three nights straight because he was afraid, he’d wake up swinging and hurt andrew.
(he nearly had, once, and it was only andrew’s lightning quick reflexes that had saved him from a black eye. neil still looked at that spot and felt guilt fill up his stomach like poison.)
neil stood up and stretched, determined not to focus on the past. he brushed his face, petting sir when she jumped up on the counter and rubbed against him. they’d put up a mirror above the counter because andrew couldn’t shave without one, but it was covered with a white cloth on most mornings so neil didn’t have to spend energy on avoiding his reflection. neil stared at the cloth as he brushed, marvelling yet again at how lucky he was to have someone as accommodating and understanding as andrew.
by the time he headed downstairs with sir perched on a shoulder, the song had changed. it was jaunty and playful in a way andrew himself rarely was. neil leaned against the doorjamb, taking advantage of his temporary invisibility to watch andrew unnoticed. andrew had his eyes closed, as always, and his fingers danced over the keys with a deft grace that took neil’s breath away. he was smiling—a sight which failed to get more novel despite how its frequency increased—and was humming with the music.
as neil watched, he finished the song and opened his eyes, giving king a soft, affectionate smile when she jumped into his lap. “did you like that?” he asked her, scratching under her chin until her eyes were closed. “i managed to get it right at last. will neil like it, hm? what do you think?”
king opened her eyes and meowed at him. she licked his nose.
“hey,” andrew protested, wrinkling his nose, but his smile widened. he patted her head. “menace,” he said, and patted king’s head.
neil smiled and knocked on the doorframe. sir jumped down, rubbing herself against andrew’s legs.
“neil,” andrew said, eyes widening a little in surprise. “i didn’t see you there.”
neil grinned. he crossed the room and greeted andrew with a deep kiss, cupping his face with a hand. when he pulled back and opened his eyes, andrew’s ears were a bright pink.
“i loved the song,” neil said, grinning wider when andrew flushed.
“you’re a menace, too,” he said with a grumble, ruined by the sparkle in his eyes. he stood up, stretching his arms. “come on. i made breakfast. how did you sleep?”
“well.” neil nodded. “better than i have all week. i don’t think i dreamt.”
“exhaustion already catching up with you, huh?” andrew’s tone was teasing, but neil did not miss the quiet relief that passed through his eyes, echoing his own.
they had waffles for breakfast. andrew chuckled when neil stared at the excess of syrup on his waffle with mock-horror, and swiped strawberries off neil’s waffles when he wasn’t looking. midway through the meal, king jumped up on the table. andrew caught her paw when she tried to swipe at his plate. “king fluffkins,” he said with a completely straight face that made neil laugh, “you will get off this table right now.”
king meowed in protest and licked his hand. “no, you cannot woo me into this. off. now.” andrew’s voice remained stern, but a smile tugged at his lips. king meowed again. sir watched her from the top of the fridge with a judgemental look in her green eyes. “you’ve already had your food, king. i remember, i gave it to you.” andrew reached up with a finger and bopped king’s nose. she meowed again and jumped onto his shoulder, curling around his neck. andrew chuckled and dipped a finger into his milk (still plain; he insisted on making his own milkshakes after that one time kevin had coerced neil into adding bananas to his chocolate shake) and offered the finger to king. she licked it and then his cheek.
neil watched the two with fondness in his heart, honoured, as always, at the amount of trust andrew put into him and that he could witness andrew at his most affectionate.
god, i love him, he thought, and froze at the thought.
love? no, surely not. what did he know about love?
no. this was bad. he couldn’t say that—he knew all too well andrew’s own experiences with love; the scars lining his forearms were testament enough to the pain it had brought him.
but the word was already bubbling up neil’s throat, filling up his insides, sickly-sweet. he stood up, chair clattering back loudly in the silence and making him flinch. andrew looked up, eyes sharp. “neil?” he asked.
neil swallowed hard, losing himself for a moment in their golden depths. he loved andrew. he loved andrew. of course he did. andrew had given him a place to belong, a home to call his, had saved him countless times from his own edges. andrew, the only person he ever felt safe around, the only person who could calm him down so completely. of course he loved him.
suddenly afraid of what his eyes would betray, neil looked away. he swallowed hard and pushed his plate towards andrew. “i’m—i’m not hungry,” he muttered, unable to meet andrew’s eyes. “i think—i think i need a moment.”
a pause. “okay,” andrew said. neil chanced a glance at him to find his attention already back on his food.
it was just another thing he loved about andrew, neil thought, as he stumbled out of the room and back upstairs. he never questioned neil’s ‘no’, trusted him to know his own limits and boundaries. it gave neil the space to breath, to be unashamedly himself, to be honest in a way he never had been able to be before, and he was so grateful. god, he was so grateful for andrew. he thought it every day, thanked whatever higher force existed—if there was even one to begin with—for giving him someone as perfect and amazing as andrew minyard.
but he couldn’t love andrew. he couldn’t. it broke all the boundaries they had set. andrew no longer called their relationship a ‘this’, no longer called neil ‘nothing’, but neil was sure that was the limit of his willingness to adjust to his needs. surely, he would not react to a confession of love the same way. he wouldn’t. neil knew he wouldn’t. they never talked about it, but neil had caught the way he stroked two fingers over his scars during bad nights when he thought neil was asleep, the way his mouth twisted with bitterness and a kind of pain neil knew intimately.
this was bad. this was so bad. he couldn’t lose andrew. not over this. not when they had come so far. neil couldn’t imagine a life without andrew, couldn’t imagine a life where he didn’t wake up to the scent of andrew’s cologne and the soft look in his eyes. i’m not your answer, andrew had warned all these years ago, and he wasn’t. he was so much more. he was neil’s reason for waking, for making it through each bad day, his tether to a life he still couldn’t believe he had.
sure, neil could survive without andrew, but it would be an existence awash in shades of grey, a monotone life deprived of colour and joy. he knew it intimately, had experienced it during his last year at palmetto, each hour filled with a fierce kind of yearning that could only be eased by the sound of andrew’s voice—that too, only temporarily—and he had no desire to relive the experience. no. he couldn’t. he couldn’t survive it again. he loved andrew. he wanted andrew. he needed andrew. as loathe as he was to admit it.
gasping, neil sank to the bathroom floor. he couldn’t remember entering, nor could he remember shutting the door behind him, but that was undoubtedly where he was, andrew’s bath bombs lining the cupboard above the counter next to the stand with two toothbrushes in it. god. god. neil couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t stop gasping. he curled into himself, wrapping his arms around his knees, and tried to reach equilibrium again. it was impossible. thoughts of andrew filled his mind until he was drowning in them: his laugh, his smile, the steadiness of his hands, the way he looked in the soft light of sunset and sunrise, the way his voice wrapped around neil’s name.
he loved him. he loved him. he loved them.
the emotion filled neil until it was spilling over his cheeks in the form of hot, burning tears. neil buried his face in his chest and sobbed. unbidden, memories of his parents rose—his mother, the possessive way she’d curled around him at night; the sharp bite to her voice as she’d scolded him; the way her fists and her curses could empty his body of his entire breath; the wild desperation and fear of losing him in her gaze even as she stitched his wounds close with steady hands. neil knew now that it hadn’t been love, not really, and had been so unhealthy if it was. he hated the way that memories of her voice could still fill his heart with a mix of warmth and terror.
and his father—god, his father. of course, his father hadn’t loved him. neil doubted a man like him could have loved anybody. no, what he had given was not love—it had instead been pain and terror and blood and nightmares that made him scream himself into wakefulness. neil hated him with an intensity that shocked him, could still picture vividly the bullet that had lodged itself in his head and the satisfaction that had filled him up to the brim.
but he was their child, no matter what. what could a child like him possibly know about love? what could he possible offer? no—he didn’t know anything about love. surely his ‘love’, if it ever showed itself, could only be just as terrible, just as bloody and vicious and violent. no, he couldn’t do that to andrew. andrew deserved better—so much better. he, who had been given away so much of himself and suffered so much just to feel even an iota of love—neil couldn’t do that to him. he couldn’t. he couldn’t. he couldn’t. he’d promised himself he’d never be like them. he’d never let himself be like the people who had broken andrew. he would rather die first.
but it was already too late—he was already in love. god, he didn’t deserve andrew for even a second. he could still remember the day he’d seen andrew break down for the first time, the way he’d begged, the way he’d pleaded for mercy. the sound of his anguished tears still haunted neil at night.
and it hadn’t been the first time. neil had missed it—had missed all the days where his demons had haunted him had night. no, he’d been too ignorant, too blind, too caught up in his own fucking issues. so what if he’d been miles away in palmetto? he still should’ve been able to tell. andrew always could. here was already an example where he’d already failed. surely, he would only continue to do so over and over until andrew either tired and left him or ended up in pieces too small to glue together. neil couldn’t do that to him. he couldn’t. he couldn’t. he couldn’t.
but what did his hands know except blood-stained destruction?
“neil? neil!”
a hand landed on the back of his neck and neil flinched back with a cry. he scrambled away from andrew until his back hit a wall. “no! don’t touch me!” he shielded himself with his arms, unthinking. he was poison and andrew shouldn’t touch him. he deserved better. he deserved better. he deserved better.
“neil.” andrew dropped his hands to his sides but kept them in sight. he watched neil keenly, concern swirling in his eyes despite his blank face. “neil, you need to breathe.”
neil shook his head and pressed himself back further. “no. no. you need—you need to go. pl—” he bit his lip around the word so hard he tasted blood. “andrew. no. i can’t right now. i—”
andrew was already shaking his head and standing. “no, that’s alright,” he said, and his eyes reflected his honesty. “i’m in the living room if you—” he paused. shook his head free of the thought. “i’ll be in the living room.” he gave neil a short nod and was gone in an instant.
sobbing hard, neil scrubbed at his cheeks. self-loathing made him nauseous; he curled over the toilet and retched until nothing came up. he was—he was—why did he ruin everything he touched? why couldn’t he do anything right? he was a failure—a complete failure. he didn’t deserve andrew. he didn’t deserve andrew.
when the panic faded and his tears stopped, neil dragged himself to his feet, swaying with weakness. he staggered to the counter and leaned against it with all his weight, rinsing his mouth.
the bitter taste on his tongue remained. he raised the cloth and stared at his own reflection, at his father’s cold eyes and his mother’s hard mouth. he was what they had made him. nothing more, nothing less. he was a monster just like his father, as loveless as his mother. he was incapable of love, he knew, incapable of the compassionate, pure love andrew deserved. he was no good. he didn’t deserve andrew. andrew deserved better than the broken facsimile, the joke, of love someone as broken as him could offer. he deserved so much more than that. and neil couldn’t give it to him. he was too broken, too imperfect, too much of what his parents had made him.
too much of a wesninski.
bile rose up neil’s throat again. he dropped the cloth and retched over the sink; nothing came out except for spit. he rinsed his mouth again and closed his eyes, which burned with unshed tears. raising a hand, he traced the scars on his cheeks lola had left behind, running a finger over the burn marks and the knife lines.
andrew had never said it, had never looked at neil’s scars with something other than cool neutrality, but neil was sure that must be a lie, was sure he must think the same things neil did. surely he found him as abominal as he found himself. surely he found him disgusting to look at, was grossed out at the reminder of how broken his partner was. if he didn’t—if he didn’t, he must be deluding himself. must be wilfully lying. would surely find out someday, would surely think it soon. it was only a matter of time, neil knew. people like him didn’t deserve something as good as acceptance.
didn’t love something as good as love.
tears spilled over his cheeks again. he staggered out of the bathroom and fell face-first into the bed, then pulled himself up and staggered to the guest room a moment later. he couldn’t bear the thought of tainting andrew’s bed with his poison, with the blood on his hands. andrew had had too much cruelty happen on him on a bed already.
the blanket neil wrapped himself in was cold and didn’t smell like andrew. he buried his face in it anyway, chasing something he knew he wouldn’t get. he knew andrew must be worried, must be waiting for him downstairs, but he couldn’t face andrew like this. not after he had lied to andrew, had lied to andrew every time he had chuckled and accepted his percentages, with each cigarette accepted and each moment shared. sure, he hadn’t lied outright, but lying by omission was still lying.
neil couldn’t stand the idea of facing andrew and pretending nothing had happened, to lie and pretend the truth filling up his lungs and drowning him didn’t exist. even worse, he feared he’d blurt it out the moment he looked at andrew, the moment he made andrew smile. no. he couldn’t do that. he couldn’t be the reason those dimples disappeared, the reason for andrew’s past to creep over him like storm clouds over the sun. he couldn’t do that. he couldn’t steal andrew’s joy like that, not when it had been so hard-earned and fought for. not when so much and so many had taken it away already with cruel greedy hands, uncaring for its value and the damage they left.
it was with those thoughts spinning in his head that neil cried himself to sleep. he woke up screaming, remembering fire dancing over and scorching his skin, his mother’s hard voice echoing in his head. he shouted a ‘no!’ when andrew tried to touch him, to soothe, and locked him out of the room.
the next week passed in a similar manner. either andrew recognised neil’s need for distance or began to tire of him already, but he gave neil space, keeping his distance and leaving the room whenever neil got too lost in his head. they slept on separate beds, and neil woke up each morning with an ache in his chest. the world was already slipping into those familiar shades of grey, and he was already fading into the background, losing the person ‘neil josten’ had become, more hollow-eyed and emptier with each passing hour, losing large swathes of time at a stretch day after day.
he didn’t bring up his discovery in his sessions with bee, knowing what she would say and unwilling to accept or acknowledge it, and didn’t mention the way he’d been distancing himself from andrew, either. he knew she wouldn’t be pleased, all too familiar with his self-destructive urges and streaks.
exy practice was strange, void of the familiar quips in russian andrew gave from his position in the middle of scrimmages. their coach and team had noticed the tension between them and made sure not to pair them together for activities, even if they did not mention it outright.
things continued this way until one evening when andrew finally snapped. they’d played a home game that night, and lost badly; both neil and andrew had been out of form, with neil disassociating heavily in the middle of the game and barely able to control his own body, and andrew completely distracted the way he had been when on the meds in college. by the time the game ended neil could barely think, let alone breath; he moved on autopilot in the locker room and followed andrew by instinct alone.
their coach was waiting in the corridor outside. “minyard, josten. what was up with you two tonight?”
andrew stopped a step in front of neil, and so, neil stopped, too. he hesitated, warring with himself for a moment before reaching out and curling his fingers into the bottom of andrew’s jacket. andrew did not glance back, but his body leaned in neil’s direction.
“sorry, coach,” he said, sounding apologetic but only by a smidge. “i’ll take full responsibility of this one. you’ll have to let neil off the wringer, though.” he glanced back at neil over his shoulder, hazel eyes meeting blue. “he was completely out of it. disassociating.”
coach jacquez started. “disassociating?” he uncrossed his arms and stepped forward. “josten, why didn’t you—”
the sudden movement made neil flinch and tighten his grip on andrew, who stepped back and to the right in a single, fluid movement so he was blocking neil with his body entirely. “not now, coach. tomorrow. i’m taking neil home.”
coach looked like he was about to protest, but one look at neil made his objections die. he stepped back and waved a hand to let them pass. “alright, then. tomorrow it is,” he said with a sigh.
the car ride home was silent. neil was still not entirely present, trying to ward off memories of nathan and to come to terms with the way his skin felt too tight on his body, like a shirt that was one size too short. despite the exhaustion tugging at him. his body was a livewire, pulled taut and thrumming with tension and nervous energy.
at home, he did not greet the cats and nearly fell over trying to take off his shoes. he only realised andrew was calling his name until he looked up and saw his lips moving. “sorry, what?” he asked.
andrew let out a breath. “i was saying, do you want my help taking off your shoes?”
neil shook his head. “no. i’m fine.”
frustration curled over andrew’s mouth, making neil’s heart skip a beat in surprise. he tensed all over. “neil, you were disassociating for nearly half the game. don’t think i didn’t notice.”
for a breathless second, mary’s voice overlapped with his, harsh and furious. you were kissing that girl, weren’t you? she demanded, shaking him with the white-knuckled grip she had on his hair. don’t lie to me, abram! did you think i didn’t notice? nothing you do escapes my notice, you hear me? now, tell me why you were kissing that girl!
apologies bubbled up neil’s throat. he flinched back, raising his arms defensively, confused when he blinked and mary was no longer there.
“neil,” andrew was saying. “neil. neil. are you with me?”
neil nodded. “yes,” he managed to say, voice breaking.
andrew crossed his arms. “neil. i know that i fucked up whatever it is i did. but that doesn’t mean i’m going to stand by and watch you hurt yourself like this. you need to stop this. let me help you.”
neil blinked. his confusion multiplied tenfold. “messed up?” he asked. “what did you mess up? you haven’t done anything.”
a look of supreme irritation passed over andrew’s face, making neil flinch. “don’t lie to me,” he snapped, and for a moment neil was sure—sure he knew—but then he continued. “i know i fucked up and you don’t need to pretend otherwise. i’m not blind; i see the way you flinch back from me. and don’t you even try to pretend that you haven’t been ignoring me. hell, we haven’t slept on the same bed since a week.”
neil shook his head. “no,” he forced through dry lips, realising that his words were quickly running out for the day. “you haven’t done anything wrong. i’m not mad at you, i…”
they ran out. he scrubbed at his throat, frustrated with the sudden burst of non-verbal that took over him, trying to get his voice to work.
andrew shook his head. “we’ll talk later,” he said. “i know you’re tired. you need to rest.”
he gave neil a knowing look. neil flushed, embarrassed at being caught out, and gestured towards his shoes. he was dizzy with a fresh bout of exhaustion; didn’t think he could bend over without passing out.
andrew let out a breath. he knelt and started to unlace neil’s shoes; neil stared at the top of his head, suddenly stunned and tearful about this strong, beautiful man, who was so proud and unwilling to bend, on his knees for him, not even because he wanted to pleasure him but because neil was simply a fool who couldn’t untie his own shoes.
he closed his eyes and swallowed down his tears. he didn’t deserve andrew. it was clearer than ever. he didn’t think he ever had. he didn’t think he ever would.
andrew helped him to bed, in their bedroom this time, helping neil take off his clothes and tucking him in. “i’ll take the guest room tonight,” he said when neil made a questioning sound as he returned to the door.
neil wanted to protest, but he didn’t have the words, unable to say anything as he watched andrew slip out the door.
the covers all smelled like andrew, and neil cried himself to sleep.
***
the next morning brought music again. it was the first time andrew had played that week, and neil was surprised at the relief he felt upon hearing it. the music wasn’t cheerful, instead angry and fast-paced and mournful, but it soothed neil all the same.
andrew did not greet neil with a smile when he went downstairs. he’d been playing with his eyes open and didn’t look like he had slept last night. his shoulders were tight with tension and a muscle jumped in his jaw. the sight made guilt and regret curl in neil’s stomach. he did that. he made andrew so upset he couldn’t sleep.
of course, you did, whispered a voice in his head; it sounded suspiciously like his mother’s. you’re your father’s son.
neil swallowed hard. he followed andrew to the couch and sat at the other end, fiddling with his hands before looking up at andrew. “i’m not mad at you,” he said. “i swear i’m not. i know i’ve been… distant—” andrew let out a snort at that— “but i swear it’s not because i’m mad. i’m not. i could never be mad at you.”
andrew was still bouncing his leg restlessly, but something in his gaze settled. he shifted forward until he was facing neil entirely and wasn’t half-turned away from him. “then what is it, junkie? what’s been on your mind?” the words were soft despite the tension still lurking in his frame.
neil shook his head. he looked away. “i’m—i’m. i’m sorry.”
“for what?”
neil closed his eyes. “i can’t. i can’t tell you.”
silence. “neil,” andrew said at last. there was something his voice neil couldn’t decipher. “i can’t know what’s wrong until you say it.” he paused, but neil was unable to reply, throat closed up with tears. “neil.” andrew’s voice cracked. “please. tell me what’s wrong. tell me what i did wrong.”
neil startled at his use of the word, eyes flying open. what he saw on andrew’s face made his breath freeze.
andrew looked shattered. all of his masks and usual apathy were gone. his face was instead twisted in pain, a pain so deep it cut neil, and his eyes were glassy with anguish. his mouth was trembling, his chin wobbling as if he was holding back tears, hands shaking visibly in his lap. “whatever i did wrong,” he said. “i’m sorry for it. i’m sorry, believe me.”
neil’s shock made words jump to his throat. “no!” he said, so loudly he made andrew startle. “no, ‘drew! don’t be sorry. you don’t have to be sorry! if anything, i’m the one—i’m the one who should be. not you!” he softened, making sure to keep his body language and voice open with sincerity. “never you.”
andrew blinked hard. “then—why? what went wrong?” he frowned. “what do you mean you ‘should be’ sorry?”
neil swallowed down the lump in his throat. he looked away, and then looked back, needing to see andrew when he said it. when he finally said. “i’m sorry, because i messed up. andrew, i. i—i love you.”
silence. andrew was shocked, it flashed over his face, but he shut down just as quickly, eyes going hard. “what do you mean?” he asked, voice cold, and neil’s heart sank. “was loving me a mistake?”
“no!” neil exclaimed, standing up. “no, never! i love you, and i don’t regret even a second of it! i never will!”
andrew’s expression didn’t budge, but hope shone through the cracks of his mask, making his eyes seem wide and childlike. “then what do you mean?”
neil stared into the face of that hope and felt his heart break. he shook his head, looked away. ran both hands through his hair and tugged until it hurt.
“hey.” andrew stood. he walked to neil and pulled his hands away from his hair. “don’t do that.”
neil blinked hard. he stared down at andrew. “andrew, i—i love you. but i don’t—i don’t think i can. love you the way you deserve.”
andrew’s brow furrowed. he rubbed circles into neil’s palms with his thumbs, seemingly unaware of the gesture. “what do you mean?”
neil looked away. shame burned in his stomach. “andrew, i—” he paused. tried to parse though his thoughts in a way that made sense. “look, you’re amazing. you’re—you’re the best. you’re beautiful, and strong, and more than i could ever ask for. you deserve the entire world, and more than that. the best anyone can get. and me, i’m—i’m nathan’s son. mary’s. all i’ve ever known is destruction and abuse. how can you look at me and not see them instead? i am what they made me, and i’ll never be able to love you the way you deserve.”
andrew was frowning before neil was even done talking, his glare thunderous and his grip bruising on neil’s hands. “shut up,” he said. “you’re not what they made you. that’s bullshit. you’re so much more than they ever were. you’re so much more than they ever could be. you’re so much better than them, and you will always be. abram, you are more than just the sum of your parents. you’re more than the abuse you suffered at their hands. you’re more than their flaws and anger. you’re you. you’re neil abram josten. you are what you made, and you made a man who is brave, and kind, and compassionate, and talented. a man who is a great teammate, an excellent friend, and,” raising one of neil’s hands to his lips and kissing it with a tenderness that made neil’s eyes burn, all while holding his gaze with eyes that smouldered, “an amazing partner. neil, you are what i chose, and what i choose, and what i will continue to choose for as long as you’ll have me. you are more than i could ever ask for or desire. you are what i want. and i love you, too.”
neil had not realised how much he had yearned to hear the words—all of them, not just andrew’s ‘i love you’, that his knees buckled with sheer relief. a sob bubbled up his throat as andrew caught him around the waist and pulled him close. “andrew,” neil whispered, staring at him, trying to memorise the softness of his gaze and the love on his face. “’drew. say it again.”
andrew smiled then, and neil pulled a hand free to press his thumb into the dimple on his cheek. “i love you,” andrew said, kissing his palm. “i love you,” he said, reaching up and kissing neil’s forehead. “i love you,” kissing his cheek, “i love you,” kissing his other cheek, “i love you,” kissing his eyes, “i love you,” kissing his nose, “i love you,” kissing his chin, “i love you,” kissing the edge of his mouth, “i love you, and only you, neil. and i always will.”
and then he leaned in and kissed neil on the mouth, making his breath catch. the kiss was deep, passionate, gentle, a confirmation of words already said, and neil cupped andrew’s face with both his hands and kissed back with everything he had until he was crying into it with the depth of his emotions, relieved and overwhelmed and happy, happy, happy.
***
“i’m sorry,” he said later, when they were both exhausted and in bed. “i shouldn’t have pushed you away like that. it wasn’t fair to you.”
“what’s done is done,” andrew said with a shrug. “don’t waste breath apologising. besides, i’ve already forgiven you.”
neil grinned at that, rolling over andrew and kissing him until they were both lazy and satisfied and drowsy with sleep.
“i love you,” neil mumbled, leaning his head on andrew’s shoulder, so glad to be tangled up with him on the same bed.
“i love you too,” andrew said, planting a kiss in neil’s hair. in seconds, he was asleep.
smiling to himself, neil closed his eyes. contentment filled up his body like honey.
he loved andrew minyard. and andrew minyard loved him.
it was more than everything he had ever wanted.