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Neil’s eyes feel completely swollen shut.
He manages to crack them open so that theory’s a bust, but it still feels terrible. He immediately shuts them again. It’s still dark outside — he can sense it even with his eyes in the half-working condition they seem to be stuck in.
His body’s exhausted. The joints in his legs protest as he starts to sit up out of bed but he’s more than halfway there so he pushes through.
Neil stumbles to the bathroom, flicking on the light only after he’s shut the door so he doesn’t wake anyone up. He pries his eyes open and catches a long enough glimpse of himself to burn the image into his brain. He looks just like he feels — fucking terrible.
He coughs a few times then realizes he’s going to blow chunks but can hardly open his eyes long enough to make it to the toilet, crashing his knees into the base as he kneels over it and vomits.
Crouched over the toilet in the middle of the night, Neil sets his forehead against the cabinet under the sink and breathes through his mouth in sharp, achey breaths.
When it’s entirely unlikely that Neil has anything left in his stomach a few minutes later, he manages to get back to bed, fall into his sheets, and fall back asleep within seconds.
The rest of the day is not kind to him, but he pushes through. He takes more painkillers than he probably should, but pushes himself just as hard at the gym and at practice as he always does. He can’t afford to take a backseat, not with a game against Breckinridge this Friday.
“Neil, what the fuck?” Matt is saying, waving his arms around like Neil needs help catching sight of the six foot four member of their team. “You could have made that shot with a blindfold on!”
Neil shakes his head and realizes he can’t really focus on the last thirty seconds of their scrimmage. Did he shoot? Andrew’s standing in the goal, but he’s been letting them score on him for the entire practice, indifference in his features even as Kevin has been shouting at him from across the court.
“Sorry, I— uh—” Neil starts, then cuts off as he catches onto Andrew’s body language. Shoulders almost imperceptibly tense, feet a shoulder width apart, one of his hands in a fist and the other hooked barely into his pocket as if to maintain an air of nonchalance.
Matt slides his hand into Neil’s vision, waving it back and forth. Neil blinks up at him. “Dude,” Matt says. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Matt’s jaw tenses harshly. “Neil.”
Neil realizes his mistake and looks up into Matt’s eyes. He’s sure to speak up enough that he knows Andrew will be able to hear him. “I’m alright, I swear. Just lost my concentration. Let’s go again.”
Without waiting for an answer or checking that Andrew heard, Neil turns around and runs back to the half-court line.
The ball is back into play before Neil’s ready for it, but he clings to any form of clear-headedness and rushes to catch the rebound off the side wall. Someone knocks into him from behind and the court spins in his vision.
The next thing he knows, he’s on the floor, disoriented as he stares up into Dan’s face.
“Neil!”
—
“I’m not sick.”
“You vomited thirty seconds ago. And you got half of it on the floor.”
“I meant to do that!”
Neil sits back on his heels and leans back to press his head against the cabinet under the sink next to the toilet where he’s been kneeling for the past ten minutes. Dan made him go back to Fox Tower early, refusing to let him practice anymore. Andrew took him and there’d been no discussion about whether he’d return without Neil or not.
Andrew’s leaning against the doorframe, staring at Neil. Glaring, really. “You’re being stupid about this,” he says. “We all know you’re sick, Neil.”
Neil doesn’t respond because he’s too busy dry heaving over the bowl of the toilet. When the fit passes and he flushes the toilet, he sits back again.
He’s so tired. And there’s a painful ache in his chest that isn’t just from throwing up.
“I wasn’t allowed to be sick,” Neil finally relents when he doesn’t think his stomach is going to rebel against him any longer and he can’t handle Andrew’s glaring for another second.
Andrew doesn’t say anything. So Neil keeps going because he likes the way Andrew’s eyes are traced on his cheek now, no longer glaring but simply looking.
“Mom usually just ignored it, and that was easier than the alternative, which was her trying to make me get better quickly. I can’t say her efforts really worked in making me better — it just forced me to get good at hiding it.”
Andrew’s eyebrows scrunch down. It’s barely noticeable to Neil, who’s still facing the wall, not strong enough to look Andrew in the eye.
“So,” Neil finishes lamely, sniffling. “So I just didn’t get sick.”
Andrew’s silent.
Neil sits back against the cabinet and presses his face into his knees. His curls fall down over his forehead and knees, greasy and disgusting against his skin. If he had more physical strength at hand, he’d take a shower just to scrub himself clean of that feeling.
“You’re an idiot,” Andrew says, sticking a leg out so he can kick lightly at Neil’s side.
Neil rolls his eyes. “I don’t know why specifically now, but I’m sure you’re right.”
Andrew leans off the doorframe and comes to stand closer, holding a hand out to Neil. “Come here,” he says when Neil hesitates.
Neil takes Andrew’s hand and lets Andrew haul him to his feet. Andrew lets go and goes to the tub, starting the water and blocking the drain.
“Get undressed,” he says to Neil without turning to look at him. “Unless you want to get your clothes all wet. And I know you want to but don’t brush your teeth.”
“What?”
“Just listen to me, Neil.”
Doing as he’s told even though his mouth still tastes vaguely like bile, Neil strips and puts his clothes on the edge of the sink while Andrew finishes filling up the tub and putting some sort of soap in there that makes it bubble up and smell nice. He wipes up the bit of vomit that didn’t make it into the toilet earlier.
“In,” Andrew says, standing up and stepping away from the now full bathtub. He watches, indifferent, as Neil clambers into the tub, the steam and hot water already helping to clear his sinuses and rid him of the chills that have been plaguing him all day.
Neil relaxes so much when he’s in the water that he lets his head dip under on his way down into it. A hand closes around the back of his neck, yanking him up.
“Get out if you can’t keep yourself from fucking drowning,” Andrew says lowly. He squeezes Neil then lets go and Neil keeps himself above water this time. Barely.
He shuts his eyes and leans against the back wall, the edge of the tub cold against where his shoulders aren’t in the warm water. He starts to slip again, but braces his feet against the opposite wall of the tub. He hums when he feels Andrew’s hand at his neck again.
“Are you going to fall asleep?”
Neil shakes his head without opening his eyes.
Andrew’s hand disappears and Neil hears him standing up and rustling around.
“Move,” Andrew murmurs, back at Neil’s side. Neil opens his eyes and quickly moves forward so that Andrew can slip into the tub behind him.
Neil twists enough that he can look at Andrew. Andrew’s still wearing his arm bands and his underwear, but is otherwise bare. “Is this okay?”
“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”
“Can I?” Neil motions to Andrew’s chest.
“Yes.”
Neil presses back and nestles into Andrew, shutting his eyes again. If Andrew really didn’t want Neil to fall asleep while in the bath, this certainly wasn’t the right way to go about it. Neil feels even more likely to slip into unconsciousness.
It especially doesn’t help when Andrew’s bringing handfuls of water up to dump over the back of Neil’s head, soaking his hair. Andrew’s fingers run along Neil’s hairline, brushing back his curls and slicking them back with the rest of his damp hair.
“Yes or no?” Andrew asks, moving to grab Neil’s shampoo from the edge of the bathtub.
“Yes,” Neil responds easily, leaning away from Andrew’s chest just a bit.
Andrew lathers up his hands with shampoo and runs his fingers through Neil’s hair, his short nails scratching lightly at Neil’s scalp as he massages it in.
“This is supposed to keep me from falling asleep?” Neil mumbles, a pleased shiver running down his spine.
Tugging sharply at Neil’s hair, Andrew says, “Eyes open, idiot.”
Neil groans but blinks his eyes open. They don’t stay that way when Andrew washes out the shampoo with more handfuls of water and then applies conditioner to his hair, his hands gentle and careful.
He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until Andrew’s arms are wrapping around his waist, tugging him closer into Andrew’s chest.
“Shit,” Neil mumbles sleepily, his voice sounding more nasally than usual, thanks to the congestion.
“Stupid,” Andrew says, pressing his chin into Neil’s shoulder.
“Yeah. Can I kiss you?”
“You’re sick.”
“It’s probably just food poisoning, Andrew, not the plague.”
“You probably taste like vomit.”
“You told me not to brush my teeth,” Neil says, exasperated. “If you don’t want to kiss me, then fine, but it’s your fault if I taste like vomit.”
Andrew sighs. He uses his grip on Neil’s middle to twist him a bit, Neil tucking up his legs so he’s sitting sideways in the tub, knees up to his chest, nestled between Andrew’s thighs. Andrew kisses Neil’s cheek and then traces water down his chin and jaw, sucking gently for a second.
“Mmmm,” Neil hums. “Keep going.”
Andrew kisses up towards Neil’s mouth, leans back in hesitation, then gives in and presses forward to catch Neil’s mouth in his.
Neil keeps it short, not actually wanting to get his tongue all up in his mouth, but the kiss is still nice.
“Kevin’s not going to be happy with me,” Neil says, sighing as he pulls back. “Practice tomorrow is going to suck.”
“You think you’re going to practice tomorrow?” Andrew eyes, an eyebrow raising.
Neil frowns. “I don’t have a death wish, Andrew. If Kevin—”
“Shut up about Kevin.”
Andrew runs his fingers through Neil’s hair again, firmly pushing any thought of Kevin from Neil’s mind. Neil leans his head against Andrew’s shoulder.
“Can I sleep now?” he asks.
“No.”
“Too late.”
“Neil.”
Neil loudly fake-snores and Andrew twitches his shoulder to jostle him. “Hey!”
“Get out and you can go to sleep in your bed.”
“Are you going to sleep in your bed?”
“I was planning on it.”
Neil nudges the top of his head against Andrew’s chin. “Don’t.”
“Where would I sleep then?” Andrew asks, purposefully being obtuse.
Neil climbs out of the water, rolling his eyes. His muscles feel more relaxed now and the fuzziness of his brain has sort of faded, but he’s exhausted.
“Sleep here for all I care,” Neil says neutrally, wrapping a towel around his waist and leaving the bathroom.
He changes into shorts and then flops into bed, his hair soaking wet and his chest damp enough that he sort of sticks to his sheets.
He’s out in seconds and is only woken up by Andrew sliding into bed next to him, not touching him but close enough that he can feel his heat, feel his breath against the back of his neck.
“Neil?” Andrew asks, his voice low and the clear question of what he wants dangling in the air.
Neil nods, scooting back. “Yes,” he responds. Andrew’s arm loops around his hips and Neil is pulled flush against Andrew’s chest.
“Why didn’t you let me brush my teeth?” Neil mumbles.
“Stomach acid weakens your enamel and brushing right after is like kicking your teeth when they’re already down.”
“What?”
“Go to sleep, Neil.”
He doesn’t have to be told twice.
They sleep through morning practice. Kevin can fucking deal with it.
—
The next night, Neil still feels like shit (he didn’t go to practice or on his usual run), but he’s been waiting for Kevin to show up for nearly half an hour.
“This is stupid,” Neil mutters, moving to get up. “Just let me go practice with Kevin.”
Andrew doesn’t act like he even heard him so Neil takes that as his blessing, but it’s likely just that Andrew got bored of arguing over it. Neil gets up off the couch, ignoring the pounding in his head.
He makes it to the door before it swings open and Kevin’s standing in the doorway.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Kevin asks, towering over Neil.
Neil shoves at Kevin’s arm. “The court with you,” he says.
“Nice try, Sneezy.”
Kevin pushes Neil away from the doorway with a firm hand to his shoulder.
“Hey—” Neil starts to protest at being manhandled.
Kevin rolls his eyes, shuts the door, and then motions towards the couch. “Back to your post.”
Neil should be indignant, but he’s mostly just grateful Kevin’s not making him practice. He’ll be up and running again by tomorrow, he’s sure of it, but he’ll pass out again if he gets on a court right now.
“Were you watching something?” Kevin asks Andrew, motioning to the TV that’s still on while Neil settles back down on the couch.
Andrew looks up from his book where he’s nestled into the bean bag. He reaches over and tosses the remote to Kevin. “Patient Zero over here was watching exy to try and feel better.”
Neil flips Andrew the finger and curls up on the arm of the couch, only extending his legs to the middle cushion.
Kevin takes the empty space next to Neil’s legs and flicks the ball of his foot. “Learn anything useful?”
Glaring at Kevin and tucking his legs up, Neil mutters, “No. I fell asleep.”
With his eyebrow raised, Kevin looks at Neil. “Can’t even stay awake through a game? And you think you’re in tip top shape for practice tonight, Sniffles?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re brainless,” Andrew interjects, looking away from his book momentarily.
Neil petulantly shoves out his legs, letting his feet land on Kevin’s lap. Andrew lifts Neil’s blanket off the floor from when he got up and hands it to him. Neil snatches it and fluffs it out so it covers his feet and Kevin’s lap.
“And you’re both assholes,” he mutters once he’s comfortably arranged. His eyes shut without him asking them to.
Not even two minutes later, Andrew looks up at Kevin. “He asleep?” he asks, unable to see Neil’s face from where he is.
Kevin leans over a bit, not disturbing where Neil’s feet are still on him. He laughs in a puff out through his nose. “He’s out.”
Returning his attention to his book, Andrew shakes his head. “He’s a nuisance.”
Kevin shrugs.
They end up falling asleep out there with Neil. Kevin wakes up in the morning for practice, but leaves Neil and Andrew there in a moment of weakness for them both — something he doesn’t care to cultivate so he yells at them especially brutally once they’ve returned to practice the next day.