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Andrew hated Neil Josten. He hated the way his damn curls would tumble messily over his forehead and tangle in long thick lashes. He hated the icy blue of Neil’s eyes, and the way they would scan Andrew always making sure he wouldn’t miss the slightest of twitches of Andrew’s mood. He hated his pouty upper lip and the little white scar at the corner of his mouth. But mostly Andrew hated the way Neil Josten effortlessly tore down every single wall Andrew had spent his whole life putting up.
Neil made Andrew into something foreign, and even though he would never admit it out loud, the very darkest recesses of his mind acknowledged that it scared him. When Neil was around suddenly he wasn’t the monster everyone, even himself, thought he was. Neil was like a splash of color on a black and white painting. His presence made everything so much brighter. When Neil was by his side suddenly Andrew wasn’t numb and merely going through the motions of life.
Neil was magnetic, lovely, playful, and dangerous, and yet Andrew couldn’t seem to let go. He was an addiction that Andrew had no hopes of quitting. Even smoking came second to Neil’s presence.
With Neil, Andrew felt safe. He could be vulnerable, angry, or depressed, it didn’t matter because Neil didn’t care. For some strange unknown reason Neil seemed to like Andrew despite it all, and for that Andrew would tear the very moon from the sky if Neil asked him too.
Andrew couldn’t help but freeze when Neil laughed, everything else seemed so irrelevant when Neil’s mouth pulled into that slightly crazy smile. The whole damn world seemed to light up at the happy little crinkle of icy eyes. And if Andrew was the cause of that smile it would fill him with this horrible warm and fuzzy feeling that left him wanting to scream or bite, which was strange.
Even better was when Neil lay pliant beneath him, warm, soft and safe. Warmth like no other would fill Andrew when he placed his palm on the soft skin of Neil’s chest and felt the happy flutter of his heart. He would melt when he ran that hand down the battlefield of scars on his chest and would receive a little shudder for his troubles.
Andrew hated the way Neil would let out little whimpers when he gently nipped at the sensitive skin beneath his ear and would trail kisses down his neck. Just like every part of Neil his neck was lovely. A neck had no business being as lovely as Neil’s was. It was long and delicious, especially when it was stretched into a long arch perfect to press his lips against and pull out every single little noise he could from Neil.
That was another thing entirely, Neil’s damn mouth. Andrew couldn’t stand his mouth. Not physically, with the annoying way he would chew the dry skin of his bottom lip until it bled, practically begging Andrew to gently suck away the little drop of red with a whisper of ‘yes or no’. Or his soft pouty upper lip that felt like a warm little pillow against Andrew’s mouth. He especially hated the shit that came out of said mouth. The dangerous barded words that left his lips when he was upset, or the sarcastic little quips when he was feeling playful. Especially the long whines when Andrew wouldn’t let him release or wouldn’t kiss him hard enough. And the whimpers that came with every soft touch against his skin, or soft words of praise into the shell of his ear. And the loud moans he would let out when Andrew took him into his mouth or slowly pressed into him. Neil was nothing if not loud and Andrew hated it.
Neil was also incredibly annoying, and had made it his life’s mission to irritate the living hell out of Andrew every second he could. The bastard would go over to the goal and stand in front of Andrew messing up his blocks (when he felt like practicing). Or he would waltz over so that he was standing behind him and then would repeatedly slam a ball into the goal so that it would light up with the familiar red and let out a loud buzz, over and over and over, until Andrew was one second away from losing his mind. He would be forced to grab Neil by the hips and hoist him over his shoulder and deposit him to where he was actually supposed to be standing. He would then have to try very hard not to melt as Neil would fucking giggle all the while, and he struggled to growl “strikers stand here, aren’t you supposed to know how to play this game.”
Neil had also decided he loved running away from Andrew and had made it into a sort of game where he would get close enough that Andrew could feel his warm breath against his lips with a soft whisper of “yes” and then when Andrew would lean, he would nimbly jump to the side with another one of his damn giggles. This would go on until Andrew was close to a nervous breakdown and that usually ended up with a wrestling match where the winner kept the other pinned for at least three seconds. Andrew almost always won the wrestling bit but actually catching Neil was a pain in the ass. He was one slippery bastard.
Neil would also curl up against him, after asking for permission, and lay his head on his shoulder. Then Andrew would be forced to stay still as Neil almost always fell asleep and his fucking curls, apparently very on board with the annoy Andrew to a nervous breakdown plan, would tickle his chin no matter how many times he would softly pet them down.
Aside from irritating the living shit out of Andrew he also made sure to keep testing the limits of Andrew’s heart and almost fucking dying every chance he got. His idiot would do things like run down the stairs three at a time and trip on his shoe lace (the one Andrew fucking told him to tie). He would have tumbled the rest of the way down and probably cracked his head open if Andrew hadn’t already been standing near the end to catch him. Yes they both landed pretty hard on the floor and the bump on Andrew’s head hadn’t vanished for a little more than a week but at least Neil’s skull was still intact and he wasn’t allowed to say anything but ‘yes’ when Andrew snapped at him to tie his shoes later that week. Not to mention the many many exy related injuries. Some were easy to brush off, others had him cradling Neil closely and murmuring that it wasn’t permanent, and that he would be able to play again soon. He would hold Neil as he came off the tail end of a panic attack grabbing onto Andrew like his life depended on it. Sometimes it was stupid shit like going for a 5 hour run and not bringing his phone, or staying on any of his normal trails. Other times it was choking on a damn Oreo and giving Andrew a heart attack.
And don’t even get him started on the fucking cats. Andrew hadn’t wanted pets. Even when Bee said it might be a good idea all he could think of was when he had tried to save a baby bird. He had been 11 when he found the pitiful little thing tangled in the branches of a little bush. He had plucked it out and stashed it away in a box in the deepest parts of the basement. He would go out and find worms and other little bugs and for a while it felt nice to have something to care about, something that depended on him, but of course eventually his foster father had found it. He had heard it chirping in alarm while Andrew muffled his screams into an old worn cushion. Andrew had tried to save it, he really had, but in the end it was ripped away from him and the man tossed it in the dumpster, box and all. Andrew hadn’t wanted a pet since. But then Neil had to show up with his big blue eyes, a tiny smile and a box that wouldn’t stop meowing.
Their first cat, King Fluffkins (leave Neil and Nicky alone for ten seconds and you get some shit like that) was a mean little furry bastard. He was seriously antisocial and only craved attention when Andrew did. That is to say, the damn cat could practically sense when Andrew was going to look for Neil and would bolt past him and jump up onto Neil’s lap, or into his arms, or make lazy circles around his feet. Then the stupid ginger would pour all his attention onto their normally prickly cat, nuzzling his squished furry face, and cooing “aww hi baby.” And Andrew could swear that if a cat could smirk, the damn thing would have one surgically implanted on his face. King also hated Andrew (feeling was mutual but it felt strange to be at war with a cat) aside from stealing all of Neil’s attention, he would claw up Andrew’s pillow, scratch at his shoes, hiss when Andrew pet him. The only time they would come to a truce was when Andrew had his bowl in his hand and the fake little shit would meow at him innocently from his favorite spot on the kitchen chair.
Because one obviously wasn’t enough and Neil was still fulfilling his goal to annoy Andrew to death, not even a month later he shows up with another scrappy skinny fleabag and those damn pleading blue eyes. Sir Fat Cat McCatterson was a whole other demon. Unlike his prickly sibling, Sir was a crazy animal. She (because Neil hadn’t fucking checked when he named her) would go haywire for no particular reason and would run frantically all over the house, jumping on things and nocking things off their shelves and generally making a mess. She was also incredibly touch starved and would jump on Andrew every minute of the day if he wouldn’t shove her off all the time. She would curl up on his shoulders when he was on the couch, or climb up his leg when he was cooking (which fucking hurt), and she even figured out how to open the door to the bathroom (which was actually kind of amazing when he thought about it) and when jump up onto his lap when he was trying to take a fucking shit. Neil would always joke about how the damn cat had developed a crush on him, because even though Neil was the one to pick her off the streets and he was the one to cuddle with her and coo at her, Sir would always follow Andrew around like a damn tail.
Finally Andrew had drawn the line on any more spontaneous additions to their household when Neil brought home a pitiful looking betta fish from Walmart. He claimed that he wouldn’t stand by and allow the fish to continue living in such terrible conditions. He had bought a bowl, rocks, and even a tiny aquatic plant. Unfortunately Neil didn’t know the first thing about taking care of a fish, and it was sure as hell a lot more dependent then the cats were so it became very apparent that Mr.Gilly Pre-Sushi had fallen into Andrew’s hands. He fed it and cleaned its tank for a while but eventually Sir decided on a late night snack and he was never seen again.
Neil was also a ginger, which by itself was a problem. Andrew had never believed in horoscope and physical traits defining someone’s personality, but when he had heard a few boys at the library talking about some girl one of them dated he couldn’t agree more. “Dude, she was crazy. She was super hot, but her temper was insane and she would tear me a new one every chance she got. That girl had a smart mouth like you wouldn’t believe. I don’t think I can date another ginger.” Andrew wasn’t actually a part of the conversation but he found himself sighing and nodding, you have no idea. That night he had found himself running his fingers through thick red curls as Neil curled up under his chin and muttering “it all makes so much sense now. How did we ever think you were a brunet?” Neil had lifted his head and hummed questioningly but Andrew just shook his head and pushed Neil back under his chin. Not to mention some of the other gingery things about Neil like the delicious trail of soft red hair trialing down the warm skin of his stomach or the light brush of freckles that speckled his shoulders and cheeks.
Neil was also irritating in the morning, especially in the morning. Most of the time he was waking up at the butt crack of dawn and going for a run which would wake up Andrew and then he was left to figure out how to go back to sleep. It didn’t even matter that Neil would always try to make it up to him with a soft brush of lips against his forehead and a whisper of “sorry Drew go back to sleep.” On the days that Neil didn’t wake before the fucking sun, he would curl up against Andrew’s chest and slowly blink open those lovely blue eyes, he would be all soft and warm from sleep and his stupid face would always soften into an even stupider smile when he would mutter “mornin’ Drew.”
Neil was also completely useless as a partner. He couldn’t cook anything that wasn’t frozen or out of a can and he was a damn coward when it came to killing bugs (which was literally the only reason Andrew wanted a fucking boyfriend in the first place). One time they had been forced to sleep out in the living room because there was a cockroach in the bedroom and neither of them had the balls to actually kill the damn thing.
“Some runaway brat you are. Didn’t you live behind dumpsters and shit? One cockroach shouldn’t be a big deal.”
“You can kill your mother but you can’t kill a bug? You don’t really have room to talk high and mighty Andrew.”
Andrew didn’t really have a good response to that so he had just shrugged and pulled out a few more blankets while Neil snuck into the room to grab their pillows and hightail it out of there. The next day they found the tiny demon half chewed next to an innocent looking Sir. She quickly became Andrew’s favorite.
It was annoying to no end when Neil was around but what was infinitely worse was when he wasn’t. When Andrew had graduated and was playing on a team in Seattle far from his Junkie back in South Carolina, Andrew was fairly certain he was going to end up dead. It became difficult to breathe when he woke up to an empty apartment or couldn’t go bother Neil when he was tired of feeling numb. Suddenly there wasn’t anyone there to remind him that he wasn’t a monster, to remind him that someone cared if he lived or died. Even with the cats Neil’s absence was like a gaping wound that never seemed to heal. He wanted to feel something but without Neil it was almost like there was nothing to feel at all. He had called Bee almost every night those first few weeks. She told him that as hard as it was it wasn’t healthy to become too attached and that maybe distance is what they needed to grow stronger. At first it hadn’t seemed like it. Without Neil Andrew was nothing. But as time went on and phone calls with Neil became more frequent and less awkward it was clear that Andrew needed some space to heal by himself and maybe Neil did too. Regardless Andrew missed Neil like he would never imagine he could. When he had loss Cass it hurt but the thought of losing Neil was so much worse Andrew sometimes had to call Neil deep into the night just to hear the soft timber of his voice. Sometime it was the other way around and Andrew would wake to his phone singing a song about a runaway. He would quietly speak into the phone about his day, and if that wasn’t enough he would pull out a book and read until he could hear Neil’s breath even out as he feel asleep.
When those couple of torturous years of living separately finally came to an end and Neil was back in his –their- home and back in his arms, Andrew couldn’t imagine ever letting him go again. Don’t get him wrong he still hated his stupid ginger guts but it was still infinitely better to have him around. And if a couple more years passed and Andrew eventually asked Neil to marry him –only for easy hospital access of course- and that feeling of life kept growing and growing who was to say?
Neil was annoying and pushed Andrew to the very edge of his patience, but he was also everything to Andrew and he would love him till the bitter end.