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Neil had survived. He had tasted the acrid stench of charred skin fused to leather seats in the back of his throat like a gag. He had survived the kiss of a dashboard lighter against his cheek, an imitation of the touch he so desperately craved.
Neil had survived when Nathaniel had died.
And yet, Neil found himself gasping at a brush across his arm or the glint of sun reflecting across the room. He had survived so much, and still, he found himself torn asunder at the smallest things.
“Neil.”
Their next Exy game wasn’t for a few weeks, which meant enough time to electrocute himself with the nervous energy buzzing just under his skin. Even though Neil had already run that morning, like he did every day religiously, the shaking of his legs kept his body from staying in any one place. Run, little rabbit.
“Neil.”
Smoke filled his nostrils, and for a moment, sand and blood were crusting his skin. He had to get it off, had to stop the itching, burning-
There were warm fingers wrapped around his wrist, his hand poised over his arm, fingers extended into a mockery of claws. Neil blinked hard to clear his vision and refocused. Yes, there was his hand. And there was another hand. Neil drew back to examine his surroundings, body tensed to lash out in defense. The first thing he noticed was the concrete beneath him growing cold from the setting sun, his legs stiff from how long he had been sitting. How long had he been sitting there looking out over the view of the dumpster spewing trash in the alley and the distant passing headlights of cars? The view from the rooftop was a familiar one, and yet Neil didn’t remember how he got there.
When the fingers at the pulse point on his wrist squeezed again, Neil jolted. From the calloused touch firmly grasping him, Neil glanced up to an arm finely dusted with blonde hairs and freckles. An arm as well-defined and muscled as the broad shoulders and wide chest next in line for examination. This body could easily overwhelm him, hurt him, take him back to his father. Then, Neil saw his face: downturned lips, acne-pocked craters over pale skin. Blonde fringes haphazardly arranged over eyes that held his gaze with an intensity that should have left him reeling. Instead, their unwavering, sun-scorched glow held him steady.
“I’m not letting go until you promise you won’t hurt yourself again,” Andrew said with the same monotony in which he said everything. The words didn’t quite register in Neil’s rabbit mind, stuck between fight and flight. Neil managed to tear his gaze away with difficulty, his focus shifting to the fingers still wrapped tightly around his wrist, not to attack, but to defend. To protect Neil from himself. The crimson crescents under his fingernails were enough proof of the perpetrator behind the raking scratches up his forearm.
“You know the rules to this game, Junkie.” Andrew would only accept a verbal answer, and his silence was neither confirmation nor denial. His lips were tacky with unsaid words, and it took a few unsuccessful attempts to open his mouth to breathe out more than a gasp.
“I’m fine,” Neil sputtered around the sticky taste. When was the last time he brushed his teeth?
“And I’m Jesus,” Andrew deadpanned. He wouldn’t waver, not in this.
“I won’t,” Neil paused, and Andrew’s raised eyebrow had him finishing, “hurt myself.” With an almost imperceptible nod, the pressure at Neil’s wrist vanished. He flexed it instinctually, searching himself for the injury he was sure to find. No one touched Neil in kindness, and he knew better than to expect anything from anyone. He knew Andrew wouldn’t hurt him, not really, but still, Neil was surprised to find himself unharmed aside from his own ministrations.
No longer needing to restrain Neil, Andrew regained his usual distance and fumbled in the pocket of his sweatshirt, retrieving a cigarette and lighter. With practiced ease, he lit it, the light casting flickering shadows across the planes of his face. As they sat in silence, Andrew puffing away, Neil recognized the scent that must have triggered his episode. Neil came up to the rooftop with Andrew all the time, and he was used to the sheer number of cigarettes Andrew could blow through, and he called Neil a junkie, before they made their way back to the dorms and the chaos of the other Foxes. What had triggered such a violent reaction? Neil hated this, hated being out of control when he had mastered his emotions into subservience long ago. When he was Stephan or Alex or any other number of names that had belonged to this body before it was disfigured.
For a few minutes, Neil let himself soak in the damp air, which had turned crisp with the rising moon. The glow from Andrew’s cigarette was a beacon, one Neil had found himself drawn to more than once. In the aftermath of his adrenaline high, Neil could distinguish the smell. It was smoke, but not the cloying, smothering smoke of death. This smoke was strong, but not dominating. It was a firm hand on the back of Neil’s neck and lingering eyes across the Exy court and a voice that said stay when all he had ever done was run. This smoke was all Andrew, and Neil wanted to savor the smell as long as it lasted. As long as he lasted.
The blood that began to dry in flaky patches on his arm itched, but Neil didn’t dare scratch it for fear of breaking his promise to the blond. Neil watched Andrew unabashedly, taking in the way he pursed his lips around the cigarette and expelled smoke into the sky, dispelling into nothing but the lingering scent.
“Staring,” Andrew commented dryly, his focus still fixed on a point in the distance, shifting closer to the edge to dangle his feet over the abyss.
Andrew knew that Neil had trauma. Anyone with fucking eyes knew that, but Andrew understood more the most. Hell, Neil had told Andrew so little, and yet he knew so much. He didn’t pry; not yet, anyway. If Andrew wanted answers, he would have to reveal more truths. Neil almost didn’t want to know. Not because he was disgusted by the abuse Andrew had been dealt but because to know someone that deeply is to put down roots. Neil had never known anything but the sky, a leaf set on course by the whims of the wind.
More than anything, Neil was afraid of being known. There wasn’t anything he wanted more.
Neil scooted up to sit beside Andrew, though he didn’t dare to sit with his legs hooked over the edge. Though he was an adrenaline junkie through and through, Andrew would disapprove with the blank mask that Neil was learning to read. He knew that Andrew was already reeling from the sheer height, and given his own fragile state, it wasn’t worth adding his proximity to death by falling on Andrew’s shoulders.
Though Andrew didn’t acknowledge his presence, Neil knew he was listening. “We were on the run,” Neil started, and Andrew’s frame became more rigid. Wordlessly, Neil reached toward Andrew, though not to touch him. Instead, he plucked the cigarette from his mouth. With only an eye roll in response, Andrew drew another cigarette from his pocket. Neil tapped it against his lips once before resting a propped elbow against his thigh, content to watch the amber glow instead of partaking.
“We were on the run,” Neil began again, “me and my mom.” He shifted, drawing his knees to his chest for comfort. “For a long time. Long enough for me to become someone else.” Neil paused, taking a moment to reorder his thoughts and let the cigarette burn untouched. Andrew waited.
“We were on the beach, and the—the car was burning,” Neil faltered. “She was burning.” He drew in a ragged breath, lungs remembering the ache of fear and heaving breaths taken around coughs. Finally, Andrew looked at him. What Neil found in his gaze wasn’t sympathy or understanding. It was a simple acknowledgment. Neil watched Andrew’s attention fix on the cigarette in his hand, then flicker to his face. With a lazy swish of his hand, Andrew stubbed out his cigarette. Neil couldn’t tell if the ache in his ribs was residual from his earlier panic or a fresh wave of something else at the sight.
Though his cigarette was nearing the end, he extended it to Andrew’s lips in question, and though he quirked an eyebrow, Andrew didn’t protest as he parted his lips for Neil. And, oh, if that didn’t fry what was left of his brain cells. Gently, Neil stuck the cigarette between his lips, and the barest sliver of his finger brushed soft skin. A shiver struck his body, and Neil fought to keep his shudder at bay.
“Yes or no?” He asked, voice turning to a rasp. Giving Neil a plain “yes,” Andrew drew in another drag of his cigarette. He leaned in toward Neil slowly, giving him the chance to lean away if he changed his mind. Neil was scared, terrified actually, but not of Andrew. With an audible sigh, Andrew blew a cloud of smoke into Neil’s face. For a brief moment, fear wrapped its talons around his little rabbit heart. Though Neil had found shelter with the Foxes, he would always be a rabbit. Neil couldn’t deny that simple truth. But what fear didn’t know was the other side of the coin: he was Andrew’s rabbit.
Still in Neil’s space, Andrew gave Neil a look that made him feel fuzzy. “Yes or no?” This was their trade: truths and admissions. Andrew wanted nothing, and luckily for him, Neil was nothing.
Fighting the gasps collecting in his throat, Neil managed a “yes, Andrew.” Andrew took another drag, caging the smoke in his mouth, and then, their lips touched, soft but firm, and Andrew expelled the haze of smoke into Neil’s mouth. The clack of their teeth and the soft pants broke the momentary silence. Neil fisted his hands in his lap to keep them from straying; Andrew hadn’t permitted him to touch. Instead, he focused on the heat of Andrew’s tongue in his mouth and the proximity of the boy who had tamed the rabbit.
There was a hand on his chest, and Andrew was pushing him away. His body language was as closed off as ever, but Neil knew his need for space had nothing to do with regret.
“Thank you,” Neil breathed into the space between them.
“Junkie.” Andrew scoffed, and despite the gouges from his own fingernails and the last dredges of panic simmering in his veins, Neil licked his teeth, tasting what lingered of the smoky aftertaste of something purely Andrew, and smiled.