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Neil doesn’t consider himself a stalker.
He drops the vial he’s holding as the thought crosses his mind, and the sharp sound echoes in the empty shop.
“Shit,” he mutters as he hurriedly shuts the window blinds he’d been peering out of. The action cuts half the light from the room, the barest sliver of sunlight leaking in to allow him to see how far he’s fallen.
It’s pretty far.
The glass cylinder dances across the dusty floor to its own tune as it taps over cobbled edges, disturbing the cobwebs Neil has affectionately labeled in his head. He watches with a glare as the deep purple and pink liquid inside swirls out into a mini galaxy on the floor. It gives off a chemical glow that no actual science could explain, seeping into the floorboards like goop. Neil’s practiced enough by now to know that’s not the case, and he doesn’t need to panic and reach for a mop this time. This particular potion is as deceiving as it is beautiful, and he wonders if there’s a metaphor there, somewhere.
The sludge is tangible for only a few seconds until it evaporates into mist, rising towards the rafters until it leaves only glittering specks behind. He feels his lungs inhale it, soaking it in with all its effects. Even then, he’s not concerned. This potion wouldn’t benefit him, wouldn’t tell him what he already doesn’t know.
It’s not dangerous.
Or, it’s not toxic. It’ll fade by the time another customer comes in, so the only real loser is himself, who has to make another batch.
He shouldn’t even be doing this. He squints at the bunch of orders that have been gradually piling up over the past few days, clipped haphazardly around his workstation and constantly in danger of falling into the bubbling cauldron beneath. It’s the usual stuff; sleep remedies, confidence boosters, fiber.
It would take no time at all for him to wrap them all up and ship them out before the day’s over.
Instead, he’s brewing the love potion no one asked for, and for what?
To satisfy the fantastical scenario in his head that just won’t go away.
“Moron,” he says to the far wall, groaning as he picks up the cracked cylinder. Well…
The potion does call for shattered glass. This will do.
He throws the vial into the cauldron beside him, and watches as the sickly green blooms into the beginnings of faded pink. He loves the calculation behind potions, the restrained creativity. There are just enough rules to follow to tame his anxiety, without giving him a need to rebel. That’s why he picked the craft when it was time to learn a trade, and he was a natural.
A love potion, one with such specifications, is one of the hardest things any potion maker can craft. He could do it in his sleep, so that’s no longer the quandary.
Really, it’s whether or not he should. If he left it now as is, it would do nothing more than cause someone to feel light and floaty, a days long bout of butterflies in the stomach. He should stop. Throw it out, pour it down the drain and work on Jean’s weekly immunity serum.
Instead, he gives into his urges, and opens the window blinds again.
Andrew’s still there, alone.
Neil grips the edge of the cauldron, fingers curling tight over the charred rim. His fingers come back black and stained, and he can’t help but wonder if they’d leave steaks in the golden strands of Andrew’s hair.
He throws in another vial. Too much glass. Shit.
Neil’s not sure where his inclination towards Andrew came from, all he knows is it makes him feel small and light, yet idiotic all at the same time. He won’t even dare to give the feelings a name, but he’s absorbed enough romantic novel plots to understand the conclusion they point towards.
That’s Andrew’s fault too.
Neil bites his lip as Andrew flips to the next page of his novel. His hands are probably rough and stiff from hours of dragon wrangling, yet he holds the book so gently, as if not to press the pages more than he has to.
Neil’s never been much of a reader, so he never understands how Andrew can spend hours there on the park bench with a tome the size of Neil’s old potion textbooks. Andrew barely stirs as he absorbs imaginary worlds; he takes forever to get through one page, an eternity to move through a chapter. His eyes fly through the words once, and then again, soaking in the meaning.
Sometimes, the font or cover will be recognizable enough for Neil to go searching for it in the local bookshop, if only to try and see what Andrew does. To understand, and maybe even imagine his own hypothetical opinions and conversations. He thinks of what Andrew might think, what they’d agree on, what they’d argue about. He’s spent hours filling orders with those fantasies floating through his head, just thinking of talking to Andrew.
The book plots are always shockingly mundane. No biographies or nonfiction, like Neil originally expected, but also nothing close to mystery or horror. They’re about everyday people with everyday problems. Stories about bookkeepers, welders, seamstresses. And more often than not, there’s a romantic plot to go along with whatever character development needed to be resolved by the end.
And things were always resolved in the end. Andrew did not waste time with unhappy endings and the ambiguous.
For a long time, Neil did not get it. But he realized the hidden gem, the reason why happy endings might be so satisfying.
For some, it was nice to embrace the unrealistic. Neil’s life had never been so easy, but for the characters in the novels, he didn’t have to worry about the outcome like he did for himself. He just…knew things would be okay.
He wanted that for Andrew, in every aspect. And after so much reading, Neil could tell at least a small part of Andrew wondered what it would be like to be with someone who clicked with him. Neil knows he’s not that person, and he’s not sure he believes there’s even someone out there like that for him.
He supposes he’s being ridiculous, he could just talk to Andrew the way he imagines. Was there a chance he could be…
No.
Those things should stay in his head.
It’s pathetic and unnecessary, but he can’t help himself. That’s the sliver of faith left alive inside of him talking. He knows he can’t just make his pointless ponderings a reality; he doesn’t know Andrew, apart from occasionally crossing paths around town or on errands. Andrew has no reason to know him, just as Neil has no reason to like him.
But life has never made much sense to him.
Sometimes he wishes Andrew would just find a new place to read. Out of sight, out of mind. But Neil doesn’t mean that, he has a feeling if Andrew truly did stop coming to sit in perfect view of Neil’s shop window, Neil would still think about him.
Maybe it’s simply the way Andrew carries himself, like nothing in the world could keep him down ever again. The unapologetic energy moving around him, despite having no affinity for magic or spell casting. He was just a force of nature, sure and steady, and something about the sturdiness drew Neil in without him realizing.
He shakes his head at himself.
There might not be a possibility for that kind of thing in Neil’s life, but for Andrew…there has to be. The gentle demeanor, the intelligence, and the strength lurking beneath that reinforced temper…
Surely, someone would complement him. Yet, over the course of the year Neil has only ever seen Andrew walk off with new men every time, never repeating. For a while, Neil assumed it was what Matt used to do before meeting Dan.
“Blowing off steam,” or whatever. Neil never had any interest.
But after a while, Andrew started to look aimless.
That’s when Neil began to devise the perfect love potion, if only to prove to himself it was possible. A love potion without forcefulness, without boundary stomping. It would simply let the user detect compatibility. It could not force emotion, did nothing more than make one aware of a possible connection. Forming said actual connection and making it work would be all their responsibility from there. But it took a lot of the guesswork out of things, made it so no more of Andrew’s time would be wasted. In theory. If Andrew ever took it.
Which he won’t, Neil stubbornly reminds himself, even as he tosses in the last few ingredients.
So why is he still making it?
Neil swallows as he watches Andrew pack up, stuffing his tome into the burlap shoulder bag. The sun begins to dip lower and lower, but as selfish as it is, Neil’s just glad this time Andrew is going home alone.
Just this time. Not for long. Or…maybe.
His fantasy is getting out of hand. Andrew has never once come into the potion shop, and why would he ever think to actually ask for a love potion? He probably wouldn’t even want one if he knew it existed.
But…the thought that in some small, improbable scenario, it could help Andrew…
Well, that was enough for Neil.
As the potion beneath his hands finishes simmering, it blooms into that perfect hue, purple and pink with magenta swirls. It’s perfect.
He bottles it carefully this time, holding it in his hands until it’s as warm and toasty as the thought of Andrew makes him feel.
In another bout of pathetic poetry, the simmering stops, taking the warmth with it, as Andrew’s silhouette fades from view.
With a huff, Neil stuffs the potion behind a case of herbs, and hopes that’s the end of it.
It’s for the best, he tells himself. Andrew probably won’t ever even come in here.
—
Until one day, he does.
Neil hates to admit he’s starstruck at first. He turns around at the creak of the old door hinge, followed by the chime of the bell that sits atop cracked wood. It no longer gives off a heavenly, innocent chime, instead always grating on his eardrums with beats of foreboding mixed in.
It’s never been a more appropriate description.
The sight of Andrew standing there, arms and chest accentuated by the tight dragon-scale armor and furs of beasts unknown…
Neil never understood physical attraction, longing, until he began to watch Andrew from afar. His stoic nature and lack of pretense was the first thing to draw Neil in, sure. But after that was a done deal, it was impossible for Neil not to notice other…assets.
The moisture is stolen from Neil’s mouth, half open with a greeting that would never leave his throat. Andrew doesn’t seem to mind the quiet though, and Neil finds himself melting into a small smile. Of course he doesn’t.
Andrew’s rough hands flit gently over the rows of different potions, multipurpose and labeled with Neil’s careful hands. The usual things; stomach pains, anxiety, motivation. But at the sound of a slipped sigh from Neil’s lips, Andrew’s honey irises dart up to his.
Neil hates the way he jumps, dropping the smile in an instant and wondering if Andrew saw. Then, a second later he berates himself for worrying what Andrew thinks, because when does Neil ever care what people think? And the cycle repeats.
At that point, Neil actually huffs. He shouldn’t blame himself for being so inexperienced at his age, considering he’s never felt this way before. Still, his mother taught him to hide all emotions behind a disinterested facade. He should be better at this.
It’s just…he’s never been this close to Andrew.
His gaze is intense, bright, despite the minimal amount of expression Andrew lets bleed into his features. Those eyes burn.
But naturally, Andrew is the first to break the staring. He doesn’t know Neil. There’s no reason for him to be aware of Neil’s internal panic. He’s just a customer, and Neil tries not to let his disappointment show. That’s what he gets for fantasizing. Nothing good comes of it.
Though, it is strange that Andrew is here on a Friday night. Typically, he’d already be heading to the local bars, crossing through Neil’s courtyard with another man in tow. At this, Neil’s brow furrows, and Andrew starts walking towards the cauldron Neil is currently hunched over.
Something about the shortening proximity and nerves and Andrew seems to be the perfect concoction, an ideal recipe, for absolute word vomit. Neil should write it down.
“No date tonight?” Neil asks, in a painfully awkward bid to be social. It probably would’ve helped if he’d smiled, or laughed, or something. Instead, his voice drips from the monotone, like color bleeding off a page until there’s nothing left.
He sees Andrew still in his steps, and a brief flash of anger reflects in Andrew’s eyes. Shit. He forgets sometimes, the rumors about Andrew’s escapades. That’s not what he’s referring to, but it’s a bit hard to explain that without admitting he’s been trying to catch glimpses of Andrew every chance he gets. Neil shakes his head, clearing his throat as he gestures with his hand to wave off the poor wording. “I’m a people watcher. That’s all. I see you sometimes.”
Kill me.
He even sees the word in Andrew’s expression, in the lift of his brow: weirdo.
Neil’s lips tighten up, sealed together with fairy glue as the shop echoes back the silence.
Andrew just watches him, looking for hints of deceit or judgment. Well, Neil has plenty of one, and none of the other. Not for Andrew.
Eventually, Andrew sighs, and goes back to fiddling with some griffin claw cream. “No. I’m burnt out. None of that for a while.”
"I have something that could help with that.” It’s what Neil wants to say, but thank fuck he doesn’t.
He gets one interaction with Andrew, and he doesn’t need to taint it with his strange plans and his unwelcome motivations to ensure Andrew finds someone who he wants to keep around.
“What do you need today?” Neil asks instead. He wipes his hands on his apron, staining it with purple streaks. Bottled stardust.
Andrew clicks his tongue, running a hand through his sweat slicked hair. He smells like ashes, and Neil even spots the specks of soot on his sleeves. “Brother’s wedding is coming up, he’s driving me nuts. I need something for sleep.”
Ah, right. He almost forgot about Aaron’s marriage to the neighboring village’s princess. Not sure how he could. He feels like it’s been in the works for years, the talk of the town that never seems to end. Luckily, the event is actually going to happen within the next few months, at moonset.
Then, they’ll all have peace again.
Neil can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes, but keeps his comments to himself. He’s seen the peach color scheme. Not a fan.
“Mmm,” Neil hums, avoiding the amusement creeping into Andrew’s features. If he looks, he’ll stare. Eyes ahead. He walks to a blackened shelf, dusty but not unused. It’s where he keeps his most popular potions, in fact.
He has to stand on one of the ledges to reach the shelf he needs. It’s so practiced now, he doesn’t even feel embarrassed about it. That doesn’t stop most people from making their comments. He plucks one vial off of it, sloshing the shimmery green liquid around. It flows easily, not clumpy. Fresh.
Hopping off the ledge, he extends his hand to give Andrew the vial. He tries not to notice how small it is in Andrew’s hand. “Here you go. I take it you’re the best man?”
“Yeah, never thought that would happen,” Andrew mutters, and Neil shivers when their skin touches. It’s a little too apparent, and Andrew catches the flicker of movement. Neil’s not the only people watcher, he knows this. When Andrew isn’t reading, isn’t on a date, Neil has seen him scan the crowd, pick out people and take in all that they give away on the outside. Andrew is attuned to reactions, and Neil steps back to widen their gap, lest he give everything away.
Andrew’s watching him too closely now, expression neutral but searching. He twirls the vial expertly in his fingers, and it’s all too much at once. Neil’s not sure where to look. It’s a death sentence for his heart to look at Andrew’s hands, or his strong arms, but his gaze is no better. Even standing here, refusing to meet it head on, Neil feels himself melting under it, caving in.
He brings a hand to the back of his neck, turning to organize some potions that are already perfectly sorted. If anything, he ruins his own system, but that doesn’t stop him from moving them back and forth until his eyes catch sight of one in particular.
One he’d tucked away, one he said he’d never offer to this man.
And yet, the word vomit mixture is still at work, and his own impulsiveness has always been his downfall. It eggs at him, nags and itches at his brain with conniving accuracy. It says, “This is your only chance. What is there to lose?”
And so he finds himself saying: “A-And if you want…there’s this new one you might like.”
He grabs the slim cylinder, polished and new, and mixes the vibrant potion inside of it. Andrew grabs it and instantly squints at the label, already half handing it back in disgust.
“Love potion? I’m not—”
“No, no, nothing like what you’re thinking,” Neil insists, perhaps a bit too excitedly despite the pain in his chest. He has no right to feel that way. This would be the end of Andrew’s searching, a good thing. Just because it would also have to be the end of Neil’s longing, if that’s possible at all…
It means nothing.
Neil clears his throat, smiling sadly at the potion. Regardless of the feelings behind it, it’s one of his best. Impressive. It takes a lot to make a potion so specific, but he had to. He knows how Andrew feels about consent, about asking. He’s watched Andrew walk away from those who touched a little too freely, saw him defend others for the smallest infractions on boundaries. Neil’s heart squeezes.
He’d never received that level of respect growing up, so he values it. He appreciates that Andrew does as well. He poured his own desires into this potion, and his hard work paid off.
“It will just make you aware of when you’re in the presence of someone compatible,” Neil says proudly. He reads over the brief instructions on the back of the label. Two minutes of exposure time to any one individual is needed, then one will get an electric feeling in their chest that should last at minimum ten seconds. That’s all. “No more wasted time.”
Even with Neil’s confidence, Andrew’s gaze is skeptical. But, he takes the potion back, pulling it towards his chest to look at it more closely, as if considering it. Part of Neil knew he would. He sees the spark in Andrew’s eye at the possibility of being able to skip the awkward and painstaking ordeal of going on a failed date.
Despite that, Andrew is nothing but practical. Suspicion laces his words. “How does that work?”
Neil huffs in amusement. “I could explain, but that’s about ten years of black magic training I had to go through.”
Part of him wants to say he wouldn’t mind at all if Andrew wanted to stay that long.
Andrew hums, scanning the instructions himself. Three drops to the tongue.
His eyes flit back up to Neil, and for some reason, his gaze drifts from Neil’s eyes all the way down his frame. Humming again, Andrew smiles for the first time. It’s faint and soft, but Neil’s never seen it, not even from afar. “You can tell me some other time maybe. But I’ll take it.”
Andrew turns on his heel after handing Neil his coins. Neil doesn’t even count it, can’t so much as move, rooted to the spot until Andrew is long gone.
—
Neil’s not sure why he did it, maybe he’s a masochist.
Part of him believes if Andrew finally finds that special someone, Neil will have no choice but to stop fixating on him. Doesn’t mean his chest doesn’t continue to ache. He finds himself checking the courtyard more often than usual, waiting for the moment where he has to face reality.
He knows he’s being dramatic. The potion isn’t a miracle worker. It detects compatibility, but that’s all. It’s still up to the individuals to make it work, and in the long term, perhaps the connection isn’t meant to thrive. It simply takes a lot of guesswork out of things from the start.
He fully expects someone like Andrew to take advantage of that.
However, to his shock, he never sees Andrew on another date after that fateful day.
Instead, he keeps coming into the shop. Neil’s shop. When Neil is in it.
When Neil backtracks all the events in his head, it still leaves him spinning. Nothing ever makes sense, as smart as he is he can’t seem to crack this code. It’s like he missed a step, a day that’s been erased from his memory. It has to be witchcraft, a warring sorcerer, something.
But nothing ever comes from those suspicions, nothing except Andrew’s constant presence.
It doesn’t start right away. A few days pass with Neil patiently waiting, at least expecting Andrew to walk across the yard towards the bar district. He sees neither a trace nor boot track.
And then suddenly, it feels like he sees Andrew every day.
No, it doesn’t feel that way.
He does see Andrew every day.
“Can I…help you?” Neil asked the first return visit, squinting at Andrew and silently wondering if Neil’s sleeping potion didn’t end up working. That could be the only reason for Andrew to be here. Neil was no one.
But Andrew stared at him for an intent beat of frozen time, too long and too short, but sometimes Neil wonders if he’s still standing in that endless second, and the rest has all been a hallucination.
Andrew sighed. “Ah.”
But before Neil could question that, Andrew had relaxed, and a twitch of his lips later, he was asking Neil about where he went to school, why he never saw Neil much around town, why Neil hadn’t been raised in the village like so many others.
For each answer, he receives a tentative confession in return. For every question he chooses to pass, Andrew’s apology comes in the form of another innocent, but mildly embarrassing truth. As the time passes, the hard things spill from Neil like elixir, wondering what he’s inhaled all on his own.
Andrew leans over the cauldron as Neil brews him more sleep potion. The ‘closed sign’ hangs outside the window, raging in the harsh winds of the impending storm. Andrew makes no move to leave the cozy haven, just the two of them and the glow of the potion.
“No parents?” Andrew asks, noting the solitary picture of Neil with his school friends, Matt and Dan, hanging behind Neil’s workstation.
Neil’s stirring only ceases for a moment. He tries not to feel the gleeful, morbid rush of joy to his face. But he can’t help it. “My father died in the Knight’s War over ten years ago.”
Twelve to be exact.
“Not exactly special,” Andrew comments, sensing Neil’s lack of care.
Neil finds a cold, desolate smile forming across his lips. “No, he wasn’t. And when I found out he wasn’t coming back home, it felt like I could breathe again.”
Andrew stills as he takes in Neil’s steely gaze, and for a moment, Neil wonders if that was too much, too true. But then Andrew’s frame relaxes more than it already was, content in Neil’s presence. “That’s how I felt about Tilda too.”
They sit in comfortable silence until Andrew lights the old fireplace in the corner, and hours feel like minutes
And it continues on like that.
Andrew comes so often he has his own chair, layered with pelts and old, stained work cloths. His sturdy frame sinks into the armchair like he always belonged there, watching Neil toil away all day with his bubbling cauldron and messy organization.
“What’s that?”
“Just granules from a phoenix nest,” Neil says before throwing it in with a smile, knowing full well what comment is about to come next.
“And how do you know? It looks awfully similar to the ground scales in that one,” Andrew says lazily, pointing to the vial in question. Neil’s impressed. In the few months since Andrew has begun to waste his free hours with Neil, he’s memorized most of the ingredients as well as Neil has.
Neil’s beginning to suspect Andrew’s memory is more gifted than most, but he’s yet to tease that truth out of him.
Neil smirks. “I’m just that good.”
The huff of laughter Andrew gives him in return gives Neil the energy of 100 days and nights.
Through all the exchanged jokes and stories, tales of Andrew’s dragon training and Neil’s failed potion experiments, Neil all but forgets about the love potion he gave Andrew so long ago. It’s only when Andrew comes in, smelling of bar smoke and sapphire whiskey that Neil wonders. The heartache is tempered by innate curiosity. Surely, Andrew would not spend so much time here if he had someone…
But why spend time here at all?
Neil shakes his head as he bottles the last of the day’s brew. It’s not his business. He gained Andrew as a friend out of this, or at least he hopes. It doesn’t matter that his affections have quadrupled in that time.
Neil guesses Andrew simply never took the potion, at least not yet, and enjoys whatever time he has left before Andrew does.
—
Neil doesn’t remember the last time he laughed this much. Or laughed at all.
He never considered himself an expressive person, was told so by his schoolmates and friends. However, Andrew has a way of coaxing out every chortle and wheeze, any smile or smirk Neil has tried to keep locked up.
Unfortunately for Neil, that means Andrew has become a master of decoding the emotions Neil does try to hide. Like anxiety.
They’re discussing recipes one day, mostly supplements that Neil stated could be eaten by both Andrew and his dragons, since Andrew often complained about the ‘little bastards’ getting into his pouch to eat the granola he stashed there.
Andrew had pulled out a shredded burlap sack, spilling the remains onto the shop floor as Neil laughed the whole time.
“Yeah, yeah,” Andrew mutters as he slouches in his arm chair. Neil coughs, expelling the last of his laughter as he leans against the arm rest. He didn’t mean to put himself so close to Andrew, but then it’s too late. He feels Andrew’s warmth and burly scent radiating off of him, and soon Neil’s breathless for an entirely different reason.
Andrew tilts his head up at Neil, eyeing him up and down like he usually does. Neil still doesn’t know what that means. “Maybe you can make it for me sometime.”
Neil swallows, and the room feels oddly stuffy. “Very funny,” he jokes, crossing his legs. His body sways a little, barely balanced on the armrest. Andrew gingerly reaches out a hand to steady his thigh, and Neil tries not to tense. Andrew’s hands are rough and ragged, but so light and gentle. Neil never wants it to end.
But Andrew flinches himself when their skin connects, freezing for only a moment before resting his hand back down, as if he hadn’t realized what he was doing.
Neil clears his throat, and the insecurity he hasn’t felt in weeks inches back into his words. “I doubt you’d like it.”
“What do you mean?” Andrew asks.
Neil laughs, strained and awkward. The love potion, the root product of all his feelings and anxiety, pushes to the forefront of his mind.
“You won’t even try my potions,” Neil says, only half joking. He barely stops himself from asking why. Why is Andrew here? Why was Andrew ever here? If this continues, Neil will never be able to give up.
He can’t delude himself into thinking he’s not imagining this shared feeling, the heat between them.
He doesn’t expect the silence that follows. It fizzles out into the air and crashes into him. He looks down and expects apprehension, or confusion. Instead, right there in Andrew’s eyes, is the tail end of pure delight. The amusement twinkles before it’s abruptly extinguished by Andrew.
It’s like Neil is missing out on the punchline of a joke Andrew told, and he grasps to find it.
“What do you mean?” Andrew eventually asks, sighing to himself. He grabs the nearest novel, one he’d read multiple times. Neil knows, he borrowed it on purpose. Andrew traces the spine, tapping it several times before pulling out the library card.
Their names sit just under one another, multiple times.
Neil’s entire body seizes up at the prospect that he’s been found out. But he reassures himself. Andrew wouldn’t know that. Wouldn’t assume that. They’re discussed the book together before, it should be seen as nothing more than a coincidence.
Even so, Neil can’t seem to find the energy to move, forced into submission by some unknown feeling. Andrew presses the book softly into Neil’s chest as he stands up, staring down into Neil’s eyes as he says: “I took both.”
“I took both.”
Both.
Neil’s throat dries up. “Wha—”
“I got a great night’s sleep,” Andrew continues. He glances at the old clock hanging from Neil’s wall, never quite centered. “I should get to work.”
“What about the other potion?” Neil finds himself asking, not caring about transparency. This might be his only opportunity, the only time the topic comes up.
Again, Andrew looks a touch too pleased.
'“No luck with the other,” Andrew says. He shrugs. “Maybe it’s not meant to be. I’m over it.”
Neil almost rips the hardcover book in his hands.
Impossible.
Not for someone like Andrew.
“Don’t you think so, anyways?” Andrew asks. It burns Neil like provocation, like taunting words from his peers. Daring him to answer.
Neil’s never had great control of his mouth.
He smiles ruefully, and hugs the book tightly to his chest. “I was always told that those who search for things always find them in the end,” Neil says. He’d never thought much about whether or not he actually believed that, never tossed the words around in his head much at all. Not until Andrew.
Then, and only then, did he hope it was the case for him and him alone.
“And do you believe that?” Andrew asks, as if reading Neil’s mind.
And Neil is forced to admit…
“I don’t think so,” he whispers. He doesn’t mean to, and he coughs right after that. It burns a little, but he’s always known that deep down. It should be nothing new. These things were not meant for him. But what should it matter what he thinks?
Neil searches Andrew’s eyes for the reason, for the truth behind this conversation, but comes up frustratingly short.
All he gets is a small smile, and he can’t help himself.
He covets it all the same as before.
“You’d be surprised,” Andrew says. Time moves slower as Andrew opens the door to the shop, the bell dinging in that unsettling way. Nowadays, it fills Neil with comfort, it’s just the sound of Andrew coming and going. Staying.
“Bye, Neil.”
Bye…
It takes several minutes after Andrew leaves for Neil to exhale, and from then on, every breath fills his lungs with the energy Andrew left in his wake.
—
Neil stares down at the invitation in his hands.
His fingertips are dangerously close to Andrew’s, because Andrew still hasn’t let go of the thick, expensive paper. They’ve been standing here for two minutes, with Neil reading the script over and over.
“Katelyn De Soto and Aaron Minyard joyfully invite you to their marriage on June 11 of this year at moonset. This invitation cordially welcomes you and your plus one to this joyous event. Reception to follow.”
Neil blinks down at the invitation then back at Andrew multiple times. He’s aware of the upcoming wedding, but he’s not quite sure why Andrew is showing him. It’s a lovely invite, with cursive script and pressed flowers on the borders. It smells vaguely of lavender.
Judging from the growing smirk on Andrew’s face, Neil’s total confusion isn’t unexpected.
“Well?” Andrew asks anyway, because he’s an asshole like that.
“Well, what?”
“Go with me,” Andrew says, softer this time. The smirk fades into a quiet exasperation, impossibly fond. It’s an expression Neil was only familiar with on his own face, in the privacy of his shop. Before all this began, before he grew to know Andrew so intimately, watching from afar.
And even with how close they are, he still has no idea why Andrew would ask him.
Neil’s not so silly that he doesn’t know what Andrew means, but Andrew teases him more anyways. “As my date, Neil.”
“I know,” Neil fires back, before it all sinks into him. Hits him. Punches him in the throat, really. “But—”
Andrew tilts his head, still crinkling the paper in his fingers as Neil holds it. It’s the only sign of Andrew’s own nerves, the way the smooth paper has begun to wrinkle in his grip. At this rate, it’ll be nothing more than a clump of trash.
“But, why?” Neil finally whispers into the quiet of the shop. If a customer comes in, he might just explode. Why me?
Andrew snaps. Or…snaps for him, at the very least. “Oh, for the love of—”
He rolls his eyes and pulls out the love potion from months ago, empty. The only proof it was there at all are a few remaining droplets, sliding at the bottom.
“I told you, your potions work,” Andrew huffs. “Figured you knew that.”
He tosses the vial for Neil to catch, and he does so with ease. “You…you said it didn’t—”
“Not my best joke,” Andrew says. “It worked. I know it did. But that’s not why I’m here.”
“I—” Neil stutters, shaking his head. “So the reason you were coming to see me—”
“No,” Andrew cuts in, making Neil flinch. The words are forceful and sure, almost urging Neil to believe this, if nothing else. “No. I was here because of you.”
It makes Neil’s toes curl in his boots. Me.
He clutches the vial too tight, worries it’ll splinter as Andrew reaches forward to tap it. “I just took this within the last week.”
Only…that recently?
Which means everything else was just them. Only them. No magic required.
It’s stupid. Neil’s whole motivation for making the potion was to take the guesswork out of Andrew’s love life. Yet, as much as that’s true, he’s overjoyed that Andrew wanted him without it. The fact Andrew came to the realization all on his own, without the help…
Neil stumbles over his own feet as he inches closer to Andrew, delights in the fact Andrew lets him. Andrew stumbles too, trying to meet him, and they both realize how ridiculous they’re being.
Calm, collected them. Reduced to this.
Neil smirks, despite how lightheaded he feels. He doesn’t even have the energy to be embarrassed when his words come out in wisps. “What made you take it at all?”
Andrew shrugs. “I didn’t take it until I was…confident,” he says. “Curious, I guess. Had to make sure you weren’t losing your touch.”
Right.
Neil sighs. “Makes sense.”
Andrew looks far too amused, and hands Neil the invitation one last time. Now, it really is a shadow of its former self, but no less precious. Neil gladly accepts it.
“Neil?” Andrew asks again, knowing this time they’re on the same cursive lined page.
“Hm?”
“Yes or no?”
And Neil doesn’t need a potion to know his answer.