Chapter Text
Andrew Minyard did not fall in love.
He had destroyed those feelings long ago and swallowed them to the bottom of his stomach. It was a dangerous game to play, one he had decided was easier to avoid altogether. Love meant trust. It meant respect for his boundaries and limitations. It meant respect for his body, respect he had never been shown.
Yet, even from across the bedroom, Andrew had to resist the urge to reach out to Neil. No matter how gentle, he couldn’t deal with his touch today, the soft brushing of his fingers. He couldn't bear to feel his skin without wanting to vomit, without needing to shower away the sensation of his hands.
Although he had come to appreciate Neil's gentle, patient advances, sometimes it was still impossible to shake the feeling of utter dread. Today was not a good day. Any touch to his body was like magma: scolding hot, unbearable. It felt like a million bugs were crawling over his skin. He wanted nothing more than to be alone.
It wasn’t possible.
Tomorrow was game day, and Neil - Exy-Junkie - Josten was practically bouncing off the walls. His pretty mouth was spouting incoherent nonsense as he talked to Kevin. Andrew had no idea what they were talking about; he frankly didn’t give a shit. The only thing of importance was Neil and how fucking happy he looked.
He'd kept his distance from Andrew all morning - close enough to be near but far enough away to give Andrew space. After Andrew had answered no to his usual question, he hadn't pushed his affection any further. He never did. He would wait for Andrew to initiate before trying again.
Andrew wanted to kiss Neil's stupid lips more than anything. He wanted just one second of silence, one minute where he didn’t have to hear about exy for the hundredth time in the last hour. If today was a good day, he would’ve made the racket stop. He didn’t have the energy to bother.
Instead, he lit a cigarette and leant out the window. The hit of nicotine was enough to calm his shaking hands for a moment, the smoke reminding him of Neil. He detested how he related everything to the striker nowadays. He couldn’t escape him, even for a mere moment.
He didn’t even need to say anything for Andrew to think of him. It was as if he was trapped inside his brain, battling against the negative thoughts to stay at the forefront. Whenever Andrew felt himself falling, Neil was there to bring him back to reality. Neil didn’t know it - and he never would - but Andrew was grateful that he no longer had to struggle through bad days alone.
As Andrew took the last drag of his cigarette, Kevin finally decided that he had spent enough of the last three hours ranting about exy and shut up. The door slammed as he left their room, the sound of silence as sweet as morning coffee. Andrew flicked the filter out of the window, lighting up two more cigarettes and holding one out for Neil to take.
The junkie took one without a word, watching it burn out as he so often did. He kept a suitable amount of space between them and was constantly conscious of Andrew’s boundaries. It was so strange to be treated with such intense devotion, respect and tenderness. Andrew found himself clenching the cigarette too hard between his fingers.
“Staring,” Neil teased, taking a deep inhale.
Andrew hadn’t even realised he’d been looking at Neil until now. He immediately turned his attention to his cigarette to see it had mostly burnt out, throwing it out the window in annoyance.
“106%” Andrew replied.
Neil scoffed and smiled his stupid, sunshine smile. It was the same smile that sent annoying little butterflies fluttering around in Andrew’s stomach. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to kiss him senseless or punch the look on his face away. The emotions of irritation were somewhat similar.
For a moment, he even considered reaching for Neil’s hand. He considered running his finger over his scars and marks, feeling every bump that made up Neil. He imagined their warmth. They were caring hands that had been nothing but respectful to his needs, hands that gave instead of took.
But they were still hands.
Neil was yearning for his touch; that much was obvious. Although Andrew tried not to make himself feel guilty, a part of him still resented that weakness. His trauma was not his fault, and his feelings were an uncontrollable part of that healing process. He knew that. Betsy had told him many times, though it didn’t make ignoring Neil’s needs any easier.
Bad days happened for both of them. Some days, Neil was on edge and ready to fight. He would slip into being Nathaniel for a moment, being afraid. Andrew would have to be wary of him on those days too. Neither of them minded, and neither of them pried.
“Give me a truth,” Neil asked, throwing his filter from the window. Andrew turned to look at him, giving over his full attention. “What’s with you and promises?”
“No one ever kept a promise to me, so the least I can do is actually keep my word,” Andrew answered nonchalantly.
He didn’t have to consider his response for a moment.
Promises were important to Andrew in more ways than one. He had spent years and years watching them be broken, trampled over and stomped into the ground. They had promised him they would stop; they lied. If nobody else was going to break the cycle, Andrew would fucking do it himself.
“What’s with you and jean shorts?” Andrew questioned back.
“They’re comfortable,” Neil complained, slumping down on the sofa. “I don’t know what the problem is.”
“They’re ugly.”
The junkie sat up, an eyebrow raised. “You were looking.”
“I can’t not look when you are an utter embarrassment to fashion,” Andrew complained.
Andrew wandered towards the bedroom door, attempting to avoid Neil’s gaze. The last thing he needed was Neil Josten to call him out for staring again or thinking that jean shorts were in some way attractive. No matter who had them on, Andrew still considered them a crime against humanity. He could not understand why Neil would optionally choose to wear them out of every single piece of semi-decent clothing he owned. It was horrific.
Before he knew what was happening, Andrew had a jumper gripped tightly in his hand and was standing in the doorway. It was one he often wore, a deep blue sort of colour that was similar to Neil’s eyes. He didn’t know where the impulse had come from, but it was hard to ignore the tight tugging in his chest.
“Here,” Andrew said, dropping the jumper on Neil's face, “wear that.” Because you want me, and I can’t bear to touch you right now.
The silence between them was loud, raw. Andrew could hear every word rotating in Neil’s mind, the thank you on the tip of his tongue. It told him everything he needed to know. He was in love, and every day that feeling became stronger.
Neil Josten had his heart in ways he didn’t understand.
Even as Andrew locked himself in the bathroom for another shower, his mind was filled with nothing but Neil. It was flooded with the image of him snuggled up on the sofa, an exy game on the tv. His cheeks were rosy, hands up tucked into the sleeves of Andrew’s jumpers. He looked too soft, and it hurt. It was a confusing and fucking annoying feeling.
Andrew Minyard did not fall in love. But for once, he felt like that might be a lie.