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It’s an incredibly normal procedure and Andrew is being incredibly chill about it. He has a complicated relationship with medication and control, and his psychiatrist has been rattling off reasons why it’s alright to be anxious for the last two months since Andrew scheduled the appointment.
And it’s not like he wants to get his wisdom teeth removed. It’s not like he’s excited to get knocked out and wake up to a few days worth of mashed potatoes and sitting on his ass.
But his mouth hurts, and Neil keeps noticing and trying to mother hen him, and Andrew has never before let fear get between him and something worth doing.
So he goes to the oral surgeon. Neil drives. He’s antsy in the car, adjusting the radio and the heat and the speed of the windshield wipers as they brush away the light, slushy snowfall. In the waiting room he resorts to staring at Andrew, like he’s waiting for him to freak out. Andrew isn’t a freak out kind of person. Even if he was, he’d let it smolder invisibly deep under his skin. But he’s definitely not freaking out, because this is a normal procedure that tons of people have done, because the human race has allowed our bodies to evolve in the stupidest of ways. So he’s not freaking out.
“Stop it,” Andrew says. Neil frowns, but reverts easily back to antsy — he digs through every magazine basket until he finds a copy of Kevin’s Sports Illustrated cover. He wanders to the reception desk and for some hand sanitizer. He’s halfway back to Andrew, rubbing his palms together with vigor, when he turns around for a second pump. This one he carries carefully in his cupped fingers. Andrew holds his hands out with a sigh, allowing Neil to slather the liquid over his palms. It’s a sticky affair. And not the kind Andrew enjoys.
It’s not long before Andrew’s name is called by a smiling woman wearing scrubs with a Red Sox logo pattern. Neil is already standing up. He reaches for Andrew’s hoodie sleeve, tugging once in question. Andrew meets Neil’s eyes, recognizes the worry there for what it is, and forcibly yanks at the blinds in his head that he uses to filter out too-strong thoughts and emotions that can damage like UV rays. He stares at Neil while he takes stock of his brain in the harsh daylight — he feels nervous, but he can rationalize that pretty well. He feels frustrated over the fuss of it all. He feels a chest-constricting fondness for Neil despite the fussing, an awe-struck reaction he can’t escape whenever he’s presented evidence that Neil sees him so thoroughly and still chooses to care about him.
Andrew closes his hand over Neil’s still clutched at sleeve and squeezes.
“It’ll be fine, junkie,” Andrew says. “Just make sure I don’t kill anyone when I wake up.”
“I’ll do my best,” Neil says, lips quirking a bit. “See you on the other side.”
Andrew nods, then turns to the baseball nurse. She’s smiling less after standing close enough to hear their conversation, but Andrew doesn’t care. He follows her and sits in the plasticky dental chair with his eyes closed while people filter in around him, clattering and murmuring as they prepare. They ask him a few questions, explain a few things that Andrew can hardly hear over the humming in his own ears. Finally, the mask comes down over Andrew’s face. Count backwards from 10, he’s told.
Ten, he thinks.
He blinks, and suddenly Neil is there.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Andrew says. Neil’s eyebrows knit together. They crochet. That’s the one with the little hook. Knitting needles. Dental tools. Knives. “They gotta cut out my teeth,” Andrew continues. “You’re in the way.”
“Oh,” Neil says, the seams of his brows ripping apart. There goes the scarf Andrew was making Aaron for Christmas. For shame. “Your teeth are out. Also, Christmas was three weeks ago.”
“Next Christmas,” Andrew says. “My teeth aren’t out.”
He reaches up to his mouth to check anyway, but Neil is quicker. Fastest striker in Exy. Idiot. Neil laughs, and the sound is a warm bath that Andrew is sinking into. He blinks again, and Neil is on the other side of the room, talking to Madame Red Sox. She shakes Neil’s hand, and Andrew hisses at her. If it works for the cats, it can probably work for him too. It doesn’t have the desired effect — their hands freeze mid-shake as they both look over to Andrew.
“He doesn’t like baseball,” Andrew tells the nurse.
She raises her eyebrows at Neil, who shrugs, finally letting go of her hand. Andrew holds his own hand out in demand, wiggling his fingers. Neil’s hand is warm when he slots it where it belongs, and Andrew pulls it to his face. There’s a bolt of pain when he knocks Neil’s knuckles against his cheek.
“Careful,” Neil says softly, rubbing his thumb over the back of Andrew’s hand. And, oh, right, he’s here to get his wisdom teeth removed. He reaches for his mouth again with his free hand, but Neil is still faster. Oh, boo. Neil’s stolen both of his hands now.
“I’ll give them back if you promise to behave,” Neil says. Andrew shrugs, or at least attempts to.
“You can keep them.”
Andrew uses his tongue to check his teeth instead, but finds only cotton balls in his mouth. It hurts when he pokes at them. Ugh. So it begins. He wonders how long it’ll take to fully heal. He wonders how long it’ll take until he can suck Neil’s cock again.
“Jesus, Andrew,” Neil chokes, looking over his shoulder, and hmmmmm that bit wasn’t meant for out loud. That was inside thoughts. Many Neil thoughts are inside thoughts. Andrew’s teeth are gone and his brain and mouth are conspiring against him to vocalize the stupidest thoughts that pass through his head. He wants to be upset about this, but he’s distracted by Neil squeezing his hands.
“It’s okay,” Neil says. “No one else is in here except us.”
Suddenly, it is okay. Andrew thinks briefly that this is nothing like the old drugs back in the day — those had sliced his senses down to the nerve. This shit just makes him feel like a cloud. Like a marshmallow. Ohhhhh, Andrew could go for a s‘more right now.
“I can get stuff for microwave s’mores this weekend,” Neil says. He’s smiling, and he’s really too pretty for his own good. Pretty and a s’mores provider.
Andrew blinks again, and then Neil is wearing his jacket. He’s holding Andrew’s coat in one hand, and extending the other toward Andrew himself.
“Time to go,” Neil says. Andrew lets Neil haul him to his feet. The ground is a little wonky but it’s mostly okay. He salutes the floor for trying. It’s the best any of them can do, isn’t it?
It’s a long walk to the car — there’s a hallway and an elevator and a slippery parking lot and ugh, Andrew hates Boston. Why does he live somewhere that experiences regular snowfall?
“I wanted to sign in Dallas,” Neil reminds him, hand on Andrew’s elbow as he steers him through the parking lot. “You’re the one who insisted on coming here instead.”
“You can’t get gay-married in Texas,” Andrew informs him. Neil stops walking, and Andrew looks back to make sure he hasn’t fallen down. No, still there. Standing up. And oh yeah, he’s got his hand on Andrew’s arm. If he went down, Andrew would go down with him.
They’re stopped, but Andrew can’t see his car. Shit, he loves his car. He can’t wait to sink into the passenger seat.
“Almost there,” Neil murmurs, and damn, he’s right. Andrew climbs in with effort and lets Neil buckle him in. It’s quiet for a second after Neil closes the door, then he appears again in the driver’s seat. The engine roars to life when Neil turns the key. It’s a good sound. A growl then a hum. Hummmmm.
Neil laughs. Andrew turns his head toward him. He’s got his phone out while he waits for the car to heat up, camera pointed at Andrew. This, too, is incredibly normal. Andrew has seen hundreds of similar videos on the internet, poor doped up wisdom teeth removal survivors making fools of themselves in the passenger seat.
“I’m not doing a thing for you,” Andrew says, pointing at the camera with narrowed eyes. “Not gonna turn silly and sentimental.”
“Right,” Neil says, still smiling. He puts the phone down, then wraps his fingers over the gear shift, putting the car in reverse. Andrew covers them with his hand. “You would never do that.”
“Exactly,” Andrew says, nodding. Nodding nodding, nodding off. He loves this car. The headrest is like a pillow, a cloud, a marshmallow. He closes his eyes and lets Neil bring him home.