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1.
Neil’s last seven texts to Andrew went ignored.
He was fully aware that Andrew in no way wanted pictures of the bug that landed on Neil’s shoe or a crumpled wrapper on the sidewalk that looked slightly like an Exy racquet. Neil himself wasn’t quite sure why he felt so compelled to send them to Andrew, but each time something caught Neil’s eye throughout his day, Andrew received a photo of it a few minutes later. Andrew hadn’t replied to a single picture. Neil didn't mind.
The majority of Neil’s photos were of the Foxes: Dan, Kevin, and Wymack discussing a new play near the edge of court, Renee’s head tilted toward Allison as they led the way to one of the diners downtown. A few were of Andrew, cigarette in hand and gaze locked on some far-off point, resolutely ignoring Neil’s stare. Neil kept these photos for himself, and he looked through them when the urge to flee threatened to overpower his determination to stay. He’d spent eight years erasing any trace of his existence, and now he had a phone full of photos that documented the life he’d always wanted. There were pieces of him scattered throughout the pictures, pieces of his family and his home and the foundations for a future that was unmistakably his.
The pictures were proof that he was real, proof which he shared with Andrew in the form of a dozen or so photos a day. The last picture Neil sent Andrew was of a cat with deep brown fur sitting toward the edge of campus, her tail flicking as she watched students pass on their way to class. A few people wandered too close, and she slinked away to some stretch of grass a few feet down, gaze cautious.
Neil never had much interest in animals. Once, he asked his mother for a dog only to be met with a swift and absolute no, and that was the end of any desire Neil had to own a pet. So, when he walked toward the cat, steps measured and light, Neil caught himself by surprise. The cat eyed him, tail flicking faster, and shifted down into a crouch. Neil mirrored her, dropping to his knees a few feet away.
A hiss building deep in her chest, the cat wrinkled her upper lip in warning. Neil frowned and held out his hand, offering her one finger. She curled in on herself, her hiss growing louder, but Neil didn’t move. For a moment, she shifted as though she was going to run away, but she slowly pushed up until she was sitting again, her suspicious gaze on Neil’s finger.
He moved his hand a bit closer, and finally the cat leaned forward to sniff the tip of his finger, withdrawing after a few short seconds. She rose to her feet and sniffed Neil’s hand again, and before Neil could even blink, she was pressing her head into his palm, eyes closing as he scratched her neck. Neil reached into his pocket with his free hand and took a picture. She rubbed her cheek against his knee when he was forced to use both hands to send the photo to Andrew.
Neil grinned at Andrew’s lack of response and scratched the cat behind her ear one final time before pushing himself to his feet. Most days, Neil detoured to the library after class to work on homework, but today he swung back to the dorm, scrolling through the photos of the cat as he went. Andrew was smoking by the window when Neil entered, and he rose a brow at Neil in greeting.
“Hey,” Neil said, ducking into the bedroom to drop off his backpack. He paused when he noticed something dark sitting on his desk and flicked on his lamp.
A camera sat atop his opened textbook, the lens glinting at Neil curiously. Upon close inspection and pressing a few random buttons, Neil discovered that a viewfinder flipped out of the top, so he closed one eye to squint through it, swiveling around the room to glance at everything in sight. He carried the camera with him into the living room, brows furrowed in confusion.
“Andrew,” Neil said, and Andrew flicked his cigarette out the open window, closing it behind him as he turned to face Neil. “What’s this camera from?”
“It’s yours,” Andrew said, sliding off of the window ledge and scooping his phone off the couch. He pocketed it and dropped into one of the bean bag chairs.
“This isn’t mine.”
“It is now,” Andrew answered, and Neil sat on the ground next to him, surveying the camera in his hands. “Now you can stop sending me blurry, nonsensical pictures of whatever useless things you see throughout the day.”
Neil blinked at him, holding the camera closer to his chest. “You bought this?”
Andrew pulled out his phone and clicked on his text messages with Neil, then scrolled through them, his screen tilted so Neil could see. “You have sent me twenty-three photos in the last three days. One of them was just of the sky, and I only figured that out because there was a tree branch in the bottom left corner. In another, your finger took up half the screen, so it took me twenty minutes to realize it was a photo of your name on your coffee order.”
Unfamiliar, embarrassing heat crawled up Neil’s face as he realized that Andrew viewed the photos as a nuisance. Neil had assumed Andrew found them vaguely annoying on the grounds that Neil was the one sending them, but upon the realization that Andrew spent hundreds of dollars just to get Neil to stop, Neil wanted to delete every meaningless photo on his phone and possibly never send Andrew another photo again.
“Right,” Neil said, ducking his head, and Andrew tucked his phone back into his pocket as Neil moved to stand. Andrew grabbed Neil’s wrist before he could get far.
“Why do you send me the pictures?” Andrew asked, pulling Neil back down. Neil went willingly, brows pinching in thought.
“I don’t know. I just… I see things and want you to see them too, I guess.”
When Andrew didn’t answer, Neil thought back to his words a few seconds before, trying to understand where he’d gone wrong. After a moment, Neil’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
Not only did Andrew know the exact number of photos Neil had sent him in the past few days, he cared enough about their contents to spend twenty minutes trying to discern what exactly Neil had wanted to share with him. Neil held the camera tighter, trying to grasp at the emotion that surged in his chest as he pressed his lips together against a grin.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Andrew said, and Neil tilted his head, his smile turning smug.
“You like my pictures,” Neil said, and Andrew pushed himself out of the beanbag, his patience apparently run dry. Neil got to his feet, camera in hand, and followed Andrew into the bedroom. “When I take pictures on this,” Neil said, twisting the camera in his hands and shifting to lean against the doorframe, “can I still show them to you?”
Andrew fixed Neil with an inscrutable stare, and a long moment passed before he said, “Yes.”
Neil’s grin grew, and he set the camera down on his dresser as he crossed the room. “Yes or no?” he asked, pushing his hands into his pockets, and Andrew put Neil’s hands on his shoulders as a way of answering. Neil tugged Andrew into a kiss, pouring his gratitude into his thumb brushing against Andrew’s collarbone and the way he leaned into Andrew’s hand on his waist. There were no words for the warm, heady feeling in his chest, no words except—
Neil broke away from Andrew, moving to take a step back. Andrew’s grip on his waist stayed resolute, and he pulled Neil close, using his palm to smother the upward tug of Neil’s lips.
“What?” Andrew asked, dropping his hand.
Neil shook his head, brushing a strand of hair away from Andrew’s face, and Andrew’s eyes narrowed slightly, unconvinced. “Thank you. For the camera.”
“Shut up,” Andrew said, and he leaned up to kiss Neil again, winding his arm around Neil’s back until they were chest to chest.
Neil hoped Andrew felt the unbidden warmth pouring from behind his ribs, hoped that Andrew knew what it was. Hoped that feeling it was enough and hoped that it meant he was someone capable of the good he saw in those around him, the good he saw in Andrew. Hope had always been a dangerous, disquieting thing, and now, with the Foxes at his side and a life stretched out before him, it coursed through Neil in excess. Neil hoped and he hoped and he hoped.
Andrew pulled away from Neil, his hand dragging across Neil’s waist before he dug his cigarettes out of his pocket and held them up in offering.
Neil nodded his head. “You have to show me how to work this, first,” he said, gesturing to his camera. Andrew grabbed it off of Neil’s dresser and pressed the button to flip up the viewfinder, then peered at Neil through it and pressed another button. The flash went off, and Neil blinked a few times, startled.
“There,” Andrew said, handing the camera to Neil. On the screen, Neil’s surprised face stared back at him, eyes wide and amused.
“This button?” Neil asked, pointing, and when Andrew nodded, he grinned and snapped a photo of Andrew. Somehow, Andrew had seen it coming, and he flipped Neil off, already shifting to leave the room. “Look, Andrew,” Neil said as the photo displayed on the camera’s screen. “You look great.”
“Fuck off,” Andrew said.
Neil laughed and followed him out of the dorm, holding the camera in one hand and Andrew’s hand in the other.
2.
As someone far too well-versed in the art of predicting bad days, Neil knew his day was bound to be miserable from the moment it began. He’d woken to blood in his boxers and cramps that made his knees curl to his chest of their own accord, so he briefly contemplated going back to sleep before pushing himself up with a grimace.
Running a hand down his face, Neil slid out of bed and winced at the soreness in his lower back as he climbed down the ladder. Steps quiet to avoid waking Andrew and Kevin, he grabbed a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt and slipped into the bathroom.
He took an efficient, clinical shower, counting backwards from one hundred in every language he knew to keep his mind from snagging on the dip of his waist or length of his fingernails. There was a time he would have taken a day like this to pick apart his appearance, to poke and prod at the parts of him that “didn’t fit,” but Neil had spent enough of his life feeling out of place. There wasn’t much need anymore to punish himself for the way he was made.
It was easier said than done. Frustrated nausea curled in his gut when a pad wouldn’t stick to his boxers, so he grudgingly opted for a tampon. As he washed his hands, his gaze caught how his shirt clung to his chest, and anxiety crawled up his spine. He shut off the water and turned away from the mirror before he could obsess too much.
Despite all of Neil’s attempts to be silent, Andrew woke to Neil wrangling on a binder without fully taking off his shirt. Andrew sat up, glancing away to reach for his cigarettes as Neil, annoyed, ripped off his shirt and tugged on his binder. Andrew raised a brow at him as he pulled on a pair of pants and passed Neil, careful to keep a few inches between them. After a long second of hesitation, Neil threw on sweatpants and followed Andrew to the roof.
When Neil got outside, Andrew was already smoking, an unlit cigarette in his right hand. Neil dropped down next to him, his legs dangling off the edge, and accepted the cigarette. Andrew lit it for him, allowing his lighter to clatter to the ground between them.
“Your period?” Andrew asked, and Neil nodded, letting out a sharp exhale.
Neil wished he could hate how perceptive Andrew was, but Andrew never made Neil’s period seem like anything noteworthy or strange. Truthfully, Neil had never been more thankful for Andrew’s supposed apathy than on days like these.
“Cramps,” Neil grumbled, taking a long drag. “And my lower back hurts.”
“Did you take Advil?” Andrew asked, and Neil shook his head. Andrew flicked ash off of his cigarette, and his lips twitched into the ghost of a frown. “Should you be wearing your binder?”
Neil shouldn’t have been surprised that Andrew had noticed how sore his chest had been for the last week. He remembered Andrew treating him with an unexpected gentleness the night before, twisting them on the couch until Neil’s head was pillowed on Andrew’s shoulder. In retrospect, Neil realized he had been trying to make sure Neil wasn’t in pain. For a moment, gratitude burst behind Neil’s ribcage, but it was quickly swallowed by his stomach roiling at the thought of taking off his binder.
“I—” He shook his head once more, planting his feet on the edge of the roof and wrapping his arms around his legs. “I can’t.”
Andrew nodded, stubbing his cigarette on the cement between them. “Advil,” Andrew said, standing. He held out his hand for Neil to take, and with a suppressed sigh, Neil let Andrew pull him to his feet.
He leaned into the kiss Andrew brushed against his temple. “Okay,” Neil said.
Andrew nodded, tugging Neil toward the door to the roof, and Neil followed.
~
Neil heaved the ball at the far wall of the court, racing Kevin to catch it on the rebound. He was half-convinced his ribs would cave in, but there was a high possibility he would collapse before he could even reach that point. Somehow, he managed to score, and as he ran to scoop up the ball, Kevin lunged in front of him, slamming his racquet against Neil’s in a move that sent a shock up Neil’s forearms. Neil hissed and dropped his racquet, gasping for air.
“What the hell?” Neil shoved Kevin away, taking a shaky, desperate breath.
“I’ve made it clear that I will not be complicit in you risking your health,” Kevin said, setting his racquet on his shoulder. “Either take it off or we stop practicing.”
“I’ve made it clear that you can’t order me around anymore,” Neil shot back. “I’m your captain. If I want to practice, I’ll practice.”
Kevin took off his gloves. “Then I won’t practice with you.”
Neil watched him leave the court, fire piercing his ribs with each inhale, and refocused on the task at hand. If Kevin wouldn’t play with him, he’d practice by himself.
Neil took a breath, shook out his shoulders, and picked up his racquet. He slammed the ball to the far end of the court, already in motion before it’d even left his net.
Neil’s surroundings melted away. It didn’t matter that his day had been shit or his binder was squeezing his ribcage painfully. All that mattered was goal after goal, Neil’s racquet swinging through the air as he raced across the court. In moments like these, Neil was eternally grateful for the one-track mind his friends complained about endlessly.
After what could have been twenty minutes or two hours, Neil’s steps stuttered, his breath catching in his chest. He scored on the empty goal one last time and tumbled to the ground, all the air shooting out of his body as he collapsed on his back.
A second later, Andrew’s face appeared in Neil’s line of sight, his jaw tense.
“You are so fucking stupid,” Andrew said, digging the toe of his shoe Neil’s thigh, and Neil coughed, the fire in his ribs clawing its way through his lungs. Every breath filled his mouth with a sickly, metallic taste, and for a moment, Neil was on a beach in California, ash eating through his stomach. Neil pushed that aside, staring at Andrew until his nausea ebbed.
“How’d you get here?” Neil asked, pushing himself up onto his elbows as he gasped for air. Andrew dropped down into a crouch, wrapping his hand around the back of Neil’s head. He tugged on Neil’s hair, ignoring his wince.
“I had to ask Wymack to drive me here since you took the car.”
“Did Kevin—?” Neil twisted to shoot Kevin an accusatory look, and Kevin raised a brow from where he stood on the far end of the court. “I’m—” Neil glanced back at Andrew, but he was already halfway gone, striding toward the locker room. Neil pulled himself up, screwing his face at the dull ache in his lower back, and jogged to reach Andrew’s side.
Andrew was silent until they reached the locker room, where he turned on Neil, gesturing at him. “How long have you had your binder on?”
“Since this morning,” Neil answered, dropping down onto one of the benches.
“Neil,” Andrew said, and Neil looked away, letting out a huff and trying in vain to hide his resulting grimace of pain.
Neil opened his mouth and stared at the ceiling, searching for the words. “At the dorm,” he said finally, embarrassingly quiet. Sallow desperation leached into his voice as he met Andrew’s gaze and continued. “I’ll take it off at the dorm. I…”
Andrew took the last few steps to reach Neil. He put a finger beneath Neil’s chin and tilted his head back, searching his expression. After a second, he nodded. “Come on.”
Andrew left to grab Kevin, and a few minutes later, they piled in the Maserati, Neil in the passenger seat and Kevin in the back. Silence settled over them until they reached the dorm, where Neil and Andrew went into the bedroom, shutting the door behind them.
“Your ribs?” Andrew asked, and Neil pulled a face.
“I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Andrew said, and Neil closed his eyes, shaking his head at himself minutely.
“They’re sore,” Neil said at length.
Something rustled, and Neil opened his eyes to find Andrew near, his hand hovering near Neil’s face. At Neil’s nod, Andrew flattened his palm against the side of Neil’s neck, his thumb on Neil’s cheek.
“Take a shower, junkie,” Andrew said, and Neil let his eyes slip shut again, leaning into Andrew’s hand. Andrew brushed his thumb across Neil’s cheekbone once, then pushed him away, taking a step back. “Be quick.”
Neil let the scalding hot water pound on his back for nearly fifteen minutes before he dragged himself out of the shower, throwing on the loosest clothes he owned. Andrew waited for him on his bed, the massage oil Neil had bought a few months ago in hand.
“Lay down on your stomach,” Andrew ordered, getting to his feet, and Neil’s brows drew together.
“I don’t need—”
“Be quiet,” Andrew interrupted, and Neil pursed his lips, crawling onto the bed. “Shirt off,” Andrew said, and before Neil could even respond, he added, “or pull it up to your neck if you need to.”
After a split second of hesitation, Neil tugged his shirt over his head and sprawled out on his stomach. Andrew spread the oil across his back, thumbs pushing into Neil’s skin.
Neil winced when Andrew put pressure on a particularly sore spot, and Andrew, unsympathetic, said, “This is what happens when you’re an idiot.”
“It’s no secret that I’m stupid,” Neil said.
“Shut up.”
Neil turned his face away to hide his grudging smile.
A few minutes in, exhaustion settled over Neil like a daze. He sank into the bed and hummed when Andrew leaned down to kiss his neck, the heel of his hand pressing into the lowest part of Neil’s back. He would have drifted off if he hadn’t twisted to stare at Andrew’s profile in the dim light, gaze catching on the angle of his jaw and the shadow his eyelashes cast on his cheek. Andrew must have known Neil was looking but didn’t bother to call him out on it, perhaps too focused on the task at hand. Fluttery warmth seeped from Andrew’s fingertips and curled around Neil’s spine, and as Neil watched Andrew, he wished he had the words for the haze that sank over the silence between them.
When Andrew finally finished, Neil turned onto his side and extended his arm, his hand a few inches from Andrew’s wrist.
“Thank you,” Neil said, and Andrew threaded his fingers through Neil’s to pull him up, tossing his shirt at his chest.
“Get dressed,” Andrew said, and he threw one of his hoodies at Neil before shutting the door behind himself.
Neil tugged on his shirt and Andrew’s hoodie, stretching his arms above his head before padding out into the living room. Kevin was nowhere in sight, and Andrew sat on the couch, a tub of ice cream in hand and something orange Neil couldn’t parse on the couch next to him.
“What’s that?” Neil asked, pointing.
“A heating pad,” Andrew said, taking a bite of ice cream. “You never bought another after your last one broke.”
Neil took a step closer and picked it up, brows furrowing. “It’s a fox stuffed animal.”
Andrew slid Neil an impassive look. “You heat it up in the microwave.”
Neil blinked at Andrew, the fluttering feeling from earlier rising up his throat, and bit back a smile. He ran a hand down the front of the stuffed animal. “Thank you.”
“There’s Advil on the side table,” Andrew said, already having turned to reach for the remote. “Microwave the heating pad for a minute.”
Neil set the fox in the microwave and returned to Andrew, dropping down on the couch next to him. His day had been miserable, but Andrew had spent twenty minutes massaging the soreness out of Neil’s back and bought a fox heating pad when Neil forgot to get one himself. Words Neil had never thought he would say sat on the tip of his tongue, ready to pour into the golden space between them.
Neil gently pried the ice cream out of Andrew’s hands, and at Andrew’s nod, wrapped his arms around the back of his neck. Andrew’s palms slid from Neil’s waist to his back, and he kissed Neil, fingers curling in Neil’s— his —hoodie.
“Thank you,” Neil said against Andrew’s lips, and Andrew tugged him back into their kiss. The timer on the microwave interrupted them, but Andrew was slow to pull away.
“Don’t do that again,” Andrew said, and Neil nearly went cross-eyed trying to meet his gaze. “I won’t be there to stop you the next time you’re that stupid.” Andrew tightened his hold on Neil.
Neil knew, then, why Andrew had come to the stadium. Next year, Neil would be in Palmetto by himself, and Andrew would be on a pro team hours away; if Neil had a day like this, there would be no one to stop him.
Andrew, although he would never say it, was worried. Neil understood. He knew Andrew, saw the concern written on every inch of his face in a language no one but Neil knew, and Neil wanted to wipe it away. He wanted to fast forward to a future where they played on the same team and lived in the same apartment and never had to spend more than a few hours apart.
Instead, Neil settled for ghosting a kiss across the corner of Andrew’s mouth, down to the edge of his jaw and the spot behind his ear.
“Okay,” Neil said finally, and Andrew pulled away to grab Neil’s heating pad, pointing at the glass of water and Advil on the side table. Neil took the pills, and when Andrew returned, he dropped the fox onto Neil’s stomach and tugged Neil’s legs into his lap.
“Go to sleep before you do something even more idiotic,” Andrew said, pressing a finger to the edge of Neil’s jaw and pushing his face away.
Grinning, Neil kissed Andrew’s palm before Andrew could pull his hand away and drifted off to sleep.
3.
Neil still hated taxis, even after he’d ridden in them for years. Unfortunately, he couldn’t walk from the airport to Andrew’s apartment, and asking Andrew to pick him up would ruin the surprise, so he had to make do. When he handed over a twenty and stepped out of the taxi, he breathed a sigh of relief, the tense set of his jaw relaxing. Away from his taxi-induced paranoia and with Andrew only a few floors ahead of him, a soft smile stretched across Neil’s face as he stepped into Andrew’s apartment building.
It had only been less than a few weeks since he’d last seen Andrew, but Neil missed his presence like a lost limb. Andrew would tell him to shut up if he voiced anything of the sort, though, so Neil never said it. He was sure Andrew knew. He knew Andrew missed him, too, if their nightly calls were anything to go by.
The past few days, Neil had contemplated flying to Andrew for the holidays a few days earlier. Andrew had sounded stuffy and drowsy when they talked, but he insisted he wasn’t sick, so Neil had stayed put. The night before, however, Andrew had barely said two words on their phone call and fell asleep four minutes in, making it the shortest call they’d had to date. Neil booked a flight that night, and now he stepped into the elevator of Andrew’s apartment complex, clicking the button for the top floor.
When Andrew had helped Neil move into his apartment, he’d left Neil with a key to his apartment. Neil pulled it out now and unlocked Andrew’s door.
As he stepped through the doorway, Neil glanced around the kitchen, taking in the dimmed lights and few mugs scattered across the counters. Otherwise, the apartment looked normal—save for a curled up Andrew on the couch, his gaze on Neil.
“You weren’t supposed to come for two days,” Andrew said, pushing himself up. He leveled Neil with an impassive stare.
“Nice to see you too,” Neil said, grinning, and dropped his bags by the door.
“If you were trying to surprise me, you were incredibly unsubtle,” Andrew said, and Neil’s grin faltered, his brows drawing together. “You asked me if you should come early four times this week, and then you didn’t answer my texts for three hours.”
Neil laughed, shaking his head. “I had to try.” He kicked off his shoes and crossed the dark room, stopping in front of Andrew. “You could have been dying for all I knew, so I figured I might as well grab that hoodie you stole. Speaking of which,” Neil said, plucking at a string of the hoodie Andrew wore. On the front, 10 was printed in bright orange numbers. He ran a hand through Andrew’s hair and flattened his palm against the back of Andrew’s neck.
“I told you not to come,” Andrew said, tilting his head back to meet Neil’s gaze. “I should have known you wouldn’t listen.”
“I never do,” Neil said. After a moment, he frowned, leaning forward to see Andrew’s face better in the ill-lit room. “Are your eyes—?”
“It’s just a sinus infection, Neil,” Andrew said, unimpressed.
“I don’t know,” Neil said, sounding unconvinced. “It looks like you’ve been crying.”
“Fuck you.”
Neil shrugged. “Not while you’re sick. Maybe later.”
Andrew didn’t honor that with a response, so Neil flicked on the lamp on the side table to see his expression. Andrew squinted up at him, unable to hide his minute wince. Neil turned it off instantly.
“Migraine,” Andrew said grudgingly, pulling one of the blankets off the top of the couch and into his lap.
“Have you taken anything for it?” Neil asked, brows furrowing.
“Not yet.”
“You have migraine pills in your cupboard, right?” Neil asked, and at Andrew’s nod, he said, “I’ll grab some. Have you eaten anything, either?”
Andrew fixed Neil with a flat stare, pushing off the blanket and standing. “I don’t need your help, Neil.”
“I never said you needed it,” Neil said. He wrapped his hand around the back of Andrew’s neck, leaning down to brush his lips against Andrew’s forehead. “Just let me get you some pills and water, Andrew. You’re sick.”
Andrew’s hands landed on Neil’s waist in a loose grip. Neil kissed down his temple and across his cheekbone before Andrew finally nodded, tilting his chin up to kiss Neil’s mouth. After a minute, Andrew pulled back, squeezing Neil’s waist once before he dropped down onto the couch.
Neil’s back burned under Andrew’s gaze as he slipped into the kitchen, scrounging for the migraine pills and shaking one into his palm. After filling a glass with water, Neil rooted through the fridge and found nothing of substance. He returned to Andrew’s side and sat on the couch, handing off the glass of water.
“You have no food,” Neil said, draping the blanket across Andrew’s lap. Andrew raised a brow at the gesture as he swallowed the migraine pill. “Chinese takeout?” Neil suggested.
“Thai,” Andrew answered, and Neil nodded, digging his phone out of his pocket. As he ordered, Andrew settled into the couch a bit more, his eyes slipping shut. When Neil hung up, Andrew nodded off, his head lolling onto Neil’s shoulder, and Neil—
Neil’s heart stuttered in his chest, tumbling over this trust Andrew had handed him so willingly, so freely. He knew this feeling that consumed him now, knew it by a name that flooded his thoughts, unbidden. He looked at Andrew and the feeling crescendoed, spilled over in his chest until a stupid, unabated grin spread across his face. Andrew would have covered Neil’s mouth if he saw it, and Neil almost wished he were awake to kiss the smile off Neil’s lips.
The door rang a half an hour later, and Neil gently slipped away from Andrew to grab their food. He turned around and was pleased to see that Andrew had woken, his bleary gaze on Neil as he dug two forks out of the silverware drawer.
When Neil sat down next to Andrew, taking their food out of the plastic bag, Andrew rested his shoulder against Neil’s. Neil heard the silent thank you, felt the exhausted gratitude Andrew didn’t voice, and turned Andrew’s face with a gentle grip on his jaw to pull him into a kiss.
Andrew broke away after a short moment. “You’ll get sick.”
Neil shrugged. “You can take care of me. You’ll be better by then.”
Andrew slid Neil a stony look, opening the styrofoam container that held his food. Neil kissed him again just to prove his point.
“473%,” Andrew said, taking a bite of his noodles.
“I’m glad I flew in early, too,” Neil said.
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant,” Neil said, and Andrew took another bite. At Andrew’s silent resignation, Neil grinned.
Predictably, Neil was sick within a few days, so they stayed in Andrew’s apartment for nearly a week. It wasn’t quite the holiday break they’d had in mind, but Neil had been restored to full health by the time Christmas came. They rang in the New Year by watching the ball drop on Andrew’s TV while their phones blew up with texts from the Foxes’ group chat.
When the countdown reached zero, Neil wrapped his arms around Andrew’s shoulders and allowed himself to be pulled into a kiss.
“Happy New Year,” Neil said against Andrew’s lips, and at the sight of Neil’s smile, Andrew kissed him breathless.
4.
“Boyd’s here,” Andrew said, leaning against the doorframe to his and Neil’s bedroom. “Dan is, too.”
“Matt was supposed to call me,” Neil said, dropping the shirt he’d been folding. Andrew shrugged and slipped into their room, picking up the shirt Neil had abandoned; he was silently allowing Neil to greet Dan and Matt by himself. Neil pressed his lips to Andrew’s temple in a lingering kiss as a way of thanks.
Matt and Dan stood in the center of the living room, looking around curiously. Dan’s hair was a bit longer and pulled back in a short ponytail, a few loose curls tucked behind her ears. She tugged on Matt’s arm at the sight of Neil, and Matt’s face lit up with a bright grin.
“Hey! Your place is nice.” Matt stepped close enough that he could haul Neil into a hug, smothering Neil to his chest.
Although Neil had been following their lives religiously through texts and news outlets, it had been nearly a year since he had seen Dan and Matt in person. Neil’s life had changed drastically in their time apart; Neil himself had changed, albeit only physically. To have them in his apartment was almost surreal.
He knew, despite all this, they would always be his family. No matter what team he played for or what city he lived in, he would always be Neil Josten, #10, starting striker for the Foxes.
“Did you do all the decorating?” Matt asked.
Neil nodded, glancing around at their mismatched furniture. “Andrew refused. He wanted no part in it, but he did veto this orange lamp I almost got. He said he’d kick me out if I bought it.” Neil smiled as Dan pried him out of Matt’s arms and wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug.
“You look great,” Dan said, releasing him just to hold him at arm's length. Eyes narrowing, she pressed a thumb to his cheek. “Is that stubble I see?”
Matt’s jaw dropped. “No way,” he said, leaning closer.
Neil laughed, rubbing a hand across his jaw. It still sent a thrill down his spine to feel the short hair there, even months later. “T does that.”
Matt shook his head in pleased disbelief. “How long has it been since your top surgery?”
“Six months,” Neil answered.
“Can we see?” Matt asked, leaping away from the elbow Dan threw at his side.
“You can’t just ask that, Matt.”
Matt waved that off. “Neil won’t care; guys are different. You wouldn’t get it, Dan.”
Neil laughed again. “It’s okay. You’ve both already seen the rest of my scars, anyway.” He reached behind his head and tugged his shirt off, twisting it in his hands as their gazes dropped to his chest.
Matt whistled, nodding appreciatively, and a tsunami of pride rose behind Neil’s sternum.
“Holy shit, Neil. That looks awesome.”
“How long was recovery?” Dan asked, tilting her head.
“Just a few weeks,” Neil said, shrugging. “I’ve dealt with worse.”
“We know,” Dan said dryly.
Neil rubbed a finger across one of the raised scars on his chest, its smooth curve the antithesis of the jagged, painful lines covering the rest of his body. For so long, he’d hated the scars littered across his torso, had spent years hiding them away and staring at them with disdain. It was disorienting to have a set of scars he loved so much—scars he wanted people to see, scars he was proud of. Neil would never be Kevin or Matt, who could go on a shirtless run in public with no worries or fear; yet the ease with which he was able to remove his shirt in front of Dan and Matt felt like a victory.
Andrew had never shied away from the marks on Neil’s body—not the iron burned into his shoulder or the scars that spread across his ribcage and arms. He accepted them as a part of Neil, had kissed them and touched them and seen them nearly every day. Years ago, Neil had found it hard to believe that Andrew could have no problem with something Neil found so ugly, but now, Neil understood. On one of Neil’s panicked, dysphoric days, Andrew had said: Your body is not wrong; it is yours, and it had sounded like a truth. It had sounded like Neil Abram Josten, like quiet acceptance on the way back from Baltimore. Neil’s scars were a piece of him, permanent and steady. They were just as much of a truth as the rest of him, and truth came much easier to Neil nowadays.
Neil remembered Andrew’s reaction to seeing him walk through their apartment shirtless for the first time after he’d healed, remembered Andrew stopping him with an outstretched hand to run a fingertip across the scars. Neil did the same now, his palm flat against his ribs, Dan and Matt’s eyes on his chest.
Matt clapped Neil on the back, tugging him against his side. “We’re really happy for you,” he said, ruffling Neil’s hair, and Neil shoved him away, pressing his lips together against a grin so hard that they ached.
“Thanks,” Neil said as he pulled his shirt over his head. “You guys want that tour or not?”
On the way to the ice arena, Allison texted Dan four times, urging them to get there soon. She and Renee had beat them by nearly a half an hour, so when they arrived, Allison threw up her hands in relief, pocketing her phone. Renee hugged Neil gently and handed him off to Allison, who pinched his jaw between two fingers and turned his face left and right.
“I like you clean shaven, I think,” Allison said, nodding. “Do you know when everyone else is gonna be here?”
Before Allison had even finished her sentence, someone ripped Neil away from Allison and enveloped him in a tight hug.
“It’s been so long,” Nicky complained, squeezing Neil harder before pushing him away to look between him and Andrew. “I keep telling you two to visit us in Germany.”
“We’ll be there next month,” Andrew said.
Nicky’s eyes went wide. “Why didn’t you tell me? Oh my God, I need to call Erik. Which airport are you guys flying into? When are you getting there? You’ll need to send—”
“Later,” Matt said, wrapping an arm around Nicky’s shoulders. “Right now, we need to get Neil on that ice. What twenty-five-year-old has never been ice skating?”
“My dad was more interested in killing people than teaching me to ice skate,” Neil said, and Matt coughed out a surprised laugh.
“Twenty bucks says he’ll fall in the first ten minutes,” Nicky said.
Matt grinned. “You’re on.”
By the time Kevin arrived, everyone was tying on their skates, and Katelyn and Aaron got there a few minutes later. When Neil tried to put on his skates, Andrew batted his hands away and did it for him, tugging on the laces until they hugged Neil’s ankles snugly.
Neil stood, stumbling for a second, and Matt grabbed his elbow so he didn’t fall.
“I don’t have cash on me, so you’re gonna need to stay up for at least ten minutes,” Matt whispered, glancing at Nicky.
Neil nodded. “Okay.”
Fortunately, Neil managed to stay up for the first fifteen minutes. There were a few close calls, but when Neil shouted out that the ten-minute timer on his phone had gone off, Matt whooped triumphantly. Nicky groaned as he handed over his twenty dollars, but everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves. Allison and Renee were surprisingly good, and they held hands as they did laps around the rest of the Foxes, Allison snickering at anyone who wobbled or lost their balance. Dan stayed close to the wall, and Katelyn chatted with her animatedly as she and Aaron followed Dan around the rink. Kevin hadn’t spent much time in ice skates, so Matt had to help him once he was finished showing Neil the ropes. Neil tried in vain to hide his satisfied grin when Kevin finally fell. Kevin scowled at him, but Neil’s smirk didn’t fade.
Andrew disappeared while Matt helped Kevin up, and when he returned, he was holding an object that looked vaguely like a wheel-less walker. Kevin’s death glare told Neil it was something else.
“What’s that?” Neil asked when Andrew returned to his side.
“A skating trainer,” Andrew said. “Children use them when they’re learning how to ice skate.”
Neil grinned. “At least I’m not the worst person here at ice skating,” he said, throwing his arms out when his skate caught on the ice. Andrew grabbed his elbow, raising an unimpressed brow.
“You shouldn’t be so sure of that. You’re not much better.”
“I think I’m doing alright, all things considered,” Neil said, but one of his skates slipped from beneath him, and Neil gasped as he landed on his ass, hands flying to catch himself. He blinked, surprised, and Andrew let out an odd sort of huff—
A laugh. Andrew had laughed.
It was quiet and short and more of an exhale than anything else, but Neil stared at Andrew, lips parted in shock. The sound left him reeling, completely knocked off his feet in every sense of the phrase. He’d never been one for public displays of affection, but as Andrew wrapped his hand around Neil’s bicep, Neil barely resisted the urge to pull him into a kiss.
“You’re an idiot,” Andrew said, tugging Neil to his feet, and Neil hardly heard him over his mind replaying the sound of Andrew’s laugh.
He remembered Andrew’s uncontrollable, drug-induced laughter, and the thought of it still made his stomach churn. Neil had never expected to have this, to startle a laugh out of Andrew just by being terrible at ice skating; he almost wanted to fall again just to hear it once more.
Andrew looped Neil’s arm through his and skated forward, and Neil couldn’t tear his eyes away from Andrew’s face. He wanted to drown in the sound of his laugh, wanted to drag Andrew to the car and kiss him until the fluttering in his chest subsided. Three words sprung to the tip of his tongue, and they sent his heart into overdrive as Andrew met Neil’s gaze.
“Staring.”
“I made you laugh,” Neil said, eyes still on Andrew. He trusted Andrew to not let him run into a wall—although, perhaps if he did, Andrew would laugh again. It was a distracting thought.
“You fell.” Andrew’s deadpan tone made a smile erupt on Neil’s face.
“You laughed,” Neil said.
Kevin had warned Neil that Andrew off of his drugs was “destructive and joyless,” and at first, Neil had almost believed him. Andrew would never be like the rest of the Foxes—and neither would Neil—but to see him now, older and content and maybe, impossibly, happy against all odds, Neil felt breathless.
Andrew slid his hand down Neil’s arm to wind their fingers together, but he used his other hand to push Neil’s face forward. “I’ve told you not to look at me like that. Don’t make me kill you.”
A grin tugged at Neil’s lips, and he shook his head. “You wouldn’t.”
Andrew didn’t bother to deny it.
Nicky beamed at the sight of Neil and Andrew coming closer, and he elbowed Kevin in the side to point at Neil’s hand in Andrew’s. Andrew dropped his hold on Neil and skated toward Nicky, who screeched with laughter as he skated away from Andrew as quickly as possible. Within seconds, the rink devolved into chaos as the rest of the Foxes joined in, chasing each other in the center.
Neil stood off to the side, his stomach aching with how glad he was to have most of his family in one place. He sent Wymack a short video of them fighting and pocketed his phone.
“Who do you think will win?” Renee asked, skating up next to him. She leaned back against the wall beside Neil, their elbows brushing against each other. “If it is possible to win, that is. I’m not quite sure what they’re doing.”
“Andrew will win,” Neil said assuredly. “No one’s tried to push him down for more than a few seconds.”
Renee hummed. “My bet’s on Allison,” she mused.
Neil raised his brows. “Fifteen bucks?”
Renee gave him a surprised smile, eyes bright. “For someone who doesn’t bet with the team, you were quick to jump on that offer.”
“I could say the same about you,” Neil said, and Renee laughed.
“True.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Alright. Deal.” She pushed away from the wall, holding out her hand for Neil to take. “You coming?” she asked, tilting her head toward the rest of their family, and Neil nodded, letting her pull him toward them.
“Yeah.”
Andrew, by all accounts, won, although it was mostly due to the fact that he virtually refused to participate. Renee handed over fifteen dollars and congratulated Neil, smiling at Andrew’s raised brow.
As Neil watched the Foxes bicker playfully over where they should eat dinner, Andrew’s shoulder pressed against his, he felt a bit like he’d won too.
5.
“Be quiet,” Andrew said, flicking on his turn signal. Neil kicked off his shoes and planted his feet on the seat, wrapping his arms around his knees.
“I would be quiet if you’d just tell me where we’re going,” Neil said, pillowing his cheek on his knee. Andrew didn’t answer, but a few minutes later he pulled into an unfamiliar parking lot and cut the engine, turning to give Neil a blank look.
“Are we here?” Neil asked, and Andrew stepped out of the car, closing his door behind him. Neil slipped out of the car to follow. “Where are we?”
“You’ll see, Neil,” Andrew said, starting across the parking lot. “Be patient.”
Neil rolled his eyes at Andrew and grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers. After a moment, his gaze caught on the sign above the door they were heading toward, and he stopped in his tracks.
“Is this—?” Neil glanced at Andrew, brows furrowing. “Are we going to an animal shelter?”
Andrew leveled Neil with an unamused stare, then opened the door. “Yes.”
Neil blinked at Andrew, so caught off guard he couldn’t manage to force his legs to move, so Andrew stepped in first and used his grip on Neil’s hand to tug him into the building.
The receptionist greeted them with a bright smile. “Good morning! How can I help you?”
“We’re here to look at the cats,” Andrew said, and Neil barely stopped himself from turning to stare at Andrew with wide eyes. “I called the other day.”
“Yes, Dana told me you’d be visiting us today.” The receptionist—Neil’s gaze flitted down to her nametag, which read Lindsey—snagged a Post-it Note off the edge of her desk. “Andrew Minyard and Neil Josten, yes?” At Andrew’s nod, Lindsey said, “Let me find Dana. You can sit in the lobby while you wait, if you’d like, but I’ll just be a minute.”
As she left, Neil faced Andrew, shock and confusion marring his expression.
“We’re looking at cats?”
“You’ve sent me pictures of nearly every cat you’ve seen for eight years, Neil,” Andrew said, sounding so bored that anyone else would assume he wanted to be anywhere else. “You weren’t exactly subtle about wanting a cat.”
“I never actually—” Neil shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Do you want a cat?”
“It’s better than a dog,” Andrew said, and Neil, reluctantly, had to agree.
He searched Andrew’s face for any displeasure, and when he found none, a grin tugged at his lips. A warmth that had become all-too-familiar flooded his chest as Andrew raised a brow at him.
“Andrew and Neil?” a woman said, and Andrew pushed on Neil’s hip so he’d turn. “I’m Dana, nice to meet you.” She held out a hand to Andrew first, but Neil stretched to shake it, hoping to distract her from Andrew’s impassive glance. Dana rallied quickly and flashed them a smile. “I’ll show you to the cats; follow me.”
For a moment, Neil wondered if they— Andrew, Neil reminded himself—had made a mistake. There were over two dozen cats in this room alone, and Andrew stepped away from the ones who approached him, meowing loudly. A few rubbed against Neil’s shins, but none caught his eye until he spotted a gray cat in the far corner, curled up and fast asleep.
“Who’s that?” Neil asked, pointing.
“That’s Storm,” Dana said, stepping over an orange tabby as she led the way to where Storm laid. “He’s not very social, as you can see.” She dropped down to her knees and scratched behind Storm’s ear, gently waking him. Storm stretched and pressed his head into her hand, eyeing Andrew and Neil distrustfully. “He takes a while to warm up. The only people he lets pet him are me and another volunteer named Robert.”
Neil tilted his head thoughtfully, sitting down next to Dana. Andrew stepped behind him, his legs a warm weight behind Neil’s back as Neil folded his hands in his lap.
“How long has he been here?” Neil asked.
“Over two years,” Dana said regretfully. “Someone found him in a dumpster on Fifth Street, so thin you could see his ribcage. It took nearly an hour to catch him; he’s fast.”
Andrew pressed a thumb to the back of Neil’s neck, and Neil glanced his way. The irony was not lost on him, either, and he stared at Storm, brows furrowed.
Slowly, Neil reached out a hand. Storm eyed his fingers for a minute that seemed to stretch endlessly, and Dana watched them, chewing her lip nervously. Eventually, Storm sat up, taking a small step closer.
“Can I?” Dana asked, reaching for Neil’s hand, and Neil nodded, not sure what she was asking. She slowly moved his hand toward Storm, and Storm pushed himself backward, wary gaze on Neil and Dana. After a moment, he sniffed their hands, so Dana lifted Neil’s hand until his fingers brushed behind Storm’s ears, then released her grip. Neil scratched Storm’s neck, blinking in surprise when he pushed his head into Neil’s palm.
Storm laid back down, and Neil dropped his hand into his lap.
“He likes you,” Dana said, and Neil pushed himself to his feet, awe settling in his throat.
He turned around to look at Andrew, who was surveying a cat a few yards away, perched on the highest scratching post in the room.
“Who’s that?” Neil asked.
“That’s Lenny,” Dana said. “He’s been here for just a few months.” Dana reached for a stool leaning against the wall and set it beneath the scratching post, then stepped up to hold her hand out for Lenny to sniff. Lenny sat up straighter and stared at her hand, aloof. “He’s not the most social either,” Dana said dryly. “You can try to pet him, if you’d like. Just don’t touch his back—he’ll bite.”
Neil stepped up onto the stool and lifted his hand to where the cat could see, surveying Lenny. His fur was mostly black, but a few orange patches poked through, spots of brightness in a sea of dark hair. His green eyes studied Neil.
When Lenny made no move to approach Neil’s hand, Andrew tapped Neil’s hip, so he slipped off the stool. Andrew took Neil’s place but didn’t lift a hand, instead just stared at Lenny until he laid down. When Andrew held out one finger, Lenny sniffed it, then pressed his cheek against it until Andrew scratched his face. Andrew dropped his hand after a moment and stepped off the stool.
“We’ll take Lenny and Storm,” Andrew said, and Neil stared at him in shock.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to spend more time with them?” Dana asked hesitantly. “Or maybe interact with any of the other cats?”
“We’ll take Lenny and Storm,” Andrew repeated, and a smile pulled at Neil’s lips. He shifted closer to Andrew until their shoulders were pressed together, fuzzy warmth bubbling in his chest.
Andrew had seen the two cats least likely to be taken home and decided they were theirs. Neil thought of Andrew protecting him even when all signs pointed to Neil being dangerous. He thought of calloused hands on the back of his neck and liquor-flavored kisses, thought of being given a life and a home and a family. Something as inconsequential as getting two cats shouldn’t have made Neil’s throat grow thick, but Andrew’s care had always been subtle enough that it often went unnoticed by anyone other than Neil.
“Alright, then! Just follow me so you can fill out the paperwork,” Dana said, pulling Neil out of his reverie. Neil grabbed Andrew’s wrist as Dana led the way back out to the lobby, and Andrew twisted his arm until their hands were intertwined.
Getting the cats home was not as difficult as Neil imagined, and Andrew dropped him and the cats off at their apartment before running to the nearest pet store. By the time Andrew got back, Lenny had made himself at home on the back of the couch, and Storm stretched across Neil’s lap, fast asleep. Andrew lifted an unimpressed brow and dumped the bags on their counters, staring until Neil gently shifted Storm onto the couch and came to help.
“Should we change their names?” Neil asked while they filled the cats’ food bowls. “Dana said we could since neither of them learned their names anyway.”
Andrew tossed something orange into the living room, and Neil squinted as he threw a second object after it. Neil’s expression broke into a smile when he realized they were two miniature orange foxes for the cats to play with.
“You name them,” Andrew said, setting a box of treats on top of the fridge. “You have more experience with coming up with names on the spot, don’t you?”
“I came up with names for myself,” Neil pointed out. “You don’t want our cats to be named Alex or Chris, do you?”
“You’ve already had those names,” Andrew said. “They’re shitty ones, anyway.”
Neil rolled his eyes and accepted the bag of litter Andrew handed him. “I’ll ask the Foxes.”
Andrew slid him a flat look, clearly unamused by the idea, but Neil was already pulling his phone out of his pocket with his free hand.
The group chat blew up with responses within minutes, and Neil left them to debate while he and Andrew finished setting up the litter boxes and scratching posts. When he finally checked his texts a few hours later, they had chosen the final two. Neil grimaced and pocketed his phone.
“Andrew,” Neil said, dropping onto the couch. “They voted on the cats' names.”
Andrew looked at him, waiting.
“They chose two names that Nicky came up with,” Neil said. “Their first few suggestions were pretty normal, but…”
“What are they, Neil?”
“King Fluffkins and Sir Fat Cat McCatterson,” Neil said solemnly.
Andrew stared at Neil for so long that Neil nearly checked the time on his phone. Eventually, Andrew looked over at their cats, one curled up on a scratching post, the other batting at one of the fox toys in the middle of the room.
“I’m never calling them that,” Andrew said.
“King and Sir will be fine,” Neil said.
“Lenny is King, then.”
Neil shrugged, then stood to pet Sir. Andrew followed him after a moment and dropped down next to their cat, running hand across Sir’s stomach. Sir stretched and purred quietly.
“Thank you,” Neil said. “I’ve never had a pet before.” He used his thumb to brush a strand of hair away from Andrew’s eyes, and his palm settled in the crook of Andrew’s neck and shoulder.
Andrew used his pointer finger to turn Neil’s head until their faces were a mere inch apart. “You’re the one cleaning their shit.”
Neil’s mouth tugged into a wide grin, and he tilted his head, his nose bumping against Andrew’s. “Okay.” He glanced down at Andrew’s mouth. “I’m glad you chose King and Sir. I don’t think anyone else would have adopted them.”
“Be quiet,” Andrew said, and he kissed Neil to shut him up. Neil allowed himself to get lost in Andrew’s lips on his, Andrew’s hands in his hair and on the back of his neck. Neil pulled away after a minute, and Andrew followed his mouth, pressing one final kiss to his lips before rising to his feet. He held his hand out for Neil to take.
Sir batted at their ankles in an attempt for more attention, but Andrew pulled Neil into the kitchen and began cooking their dinner. Neil only distracted him a few times, pleased when Andrew kissed him against the fridge before threatening him with homicide if he didn’t sit a safe distance away at the table. Neil complied, content to watch Andrew work.
After dinner, Neil fell asleep during the movie Andrew had put on. He woke up to Andrew absentmindedly running his fingertips up and down Neil’s back while King slept in their laps. Tucked against Andrew’s side, Neil nestled further into the couch and tipped his head back to skim his lips across the edge of Andrew’s jaw.
“Thank you,” he said again, so quiet he didn’t know if Andrew heard him.
Andrew curled his hand around Neil’s hip and tugged him closer. “Go back to sleep.”
Neil dropped his head against Andrew’s shoulder, and Andrew pressed kiss into the top of Neil’s head as his eyes slid shut.
+1
Neil awoke slowly.
The sun trickled through their thin, white curtains, warming Neil’s face as he peeled his eyes open. Andrew’s hand was splayed across his bare stomach, rising and falling with each breath, and Neil’s gaze followed from the tip of his fingers all the way to his shoulder and up his neck, settling on Andrew’s face. The sunlight spilled across Andrew, soft and golden, catching on his cheekbone and filtering through his hair in the same way it had on the bus ride to Binghamton.
I told you not to look at me like that, Andrew had said, and Neil still didn’t quite understand what his expression gave away. Now, Neil wondered if it was enough, if whatever Andrew saw encapsulated everything Neil had never said.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Andrew’s forehead, unable to stop a smile from spreading across his face as Andrew’s eyes slowly blinked open. He looked at Neil, quiet, his stare drinking Neil in from his wild, sleep-mussed hair to the hand Neil lifted to rest on top of Andrew’s.
Their gazes met, and Neil’s heart absurdly, inexplicably, stuttered in his chest, kicking into overdrive as Andrew stretched his free arm above his head, his black t-shirt shifting to reveal more of his shoulder. Neil wanted to kiss down his neck and up to his lips, wanted to hold him so close that their rib cages fused together, their hearts beating the same, steady rhythm. It was ridiculous how affected he was by Andrew’s fingertips brushing up his chest until he wrapped his hand around the side of Neil’s neck, using his thumb to tip Neil’s head closer to his.
Neil knew this feeling, although he’d never dared to name it. He spelled it out in his head, sounded out the vowels and constants, mulled them over as Andrew’s eyes slipped back shut. He added two words to it and considered the three of them together, wondering what they would sound like in his voice.
Love.
It was a foreign emotion. He thought he’d become familiar with it over the years, believed that it had filled his life to the brim ever since he joined the Foxes; yet, when he looked at Andrew, the sweetness of it all boiled over in his chest and spilled down his back.
Disbelief and warm, fizzling awe settled over his bones until he was reaching for Andrew, slowly and with love pouring from his fingertips, and surely Andrew must have felt it. Surely Andrew must have known, because he opened his eyes and allowed Neil to pull him in, gripped Neil’s waist and tugged him into a kiss so delicate that Neil’s mind filled with the soft static of an old TV. He knew Andrew felt it, knew Andrew saw the secrets etched behind his ribcage, knew Andrew cradled them with hands gentler than he’d ever admit to being, and Neil couldn’t escape Andrew’s gravity if he tried.
Andrew pulled away and raised a brow as though Neil’s thoughts were displayed plainly on his face, bare and tender. “I can practically hear your mind working,” Andrew said, voice hoarse from sleep, and ran a hand through Neil’s tangled curls.
Neil hummed noncommittally and pressed his lips to Andrew’s again, wondering what he possibly did to deserve something so terrifyingly lovely—to deserve a family and a home and a life and Andrew, to deserve to feel so immensely happy and in love that his cheeks warmed until he was sure his heart was aflame in his chest.
He pressed a hand to his ribs, his heart pounding against his palm, and pulled back to find his body unscathed. He couldn’t believe that everything burning at the very core of him, everything that Andrew was and made him feel, hadn’t turned him into ash. Neil was immeasurably glad it hadn’t, because it allowed him to close the gap and kiss Andrew once more.
"I love you,” Neil said as he broke away, the words pouring straight from the center of his soul and onto the soft, wrinkled sheets in front of Andrew. They filled the heady space between them with an emotion that felt far too idyllic to belong to them.
Andrew looked at him, picked up the words Neil had never thought he would say and tucked them into his pocket, said, “I know, Neil,” and Neil couldn’t and wouldn’t stop himself from grinning so widely it felt as though he was lit from within.
Andrew shifted and wrapped his hand around the back of Neil’s neck, fingers winding through Neil’s hair. He tugged Neil closer to murmur against his temple, “Me too.”
Neil leaned into Andrew, leaned into the reverence coursing through his veins as Andrew’s free hand lifted to slide against his cheek. Neil’s eyes closed of their own accord. He could live the rest of his life without opening them so long as Andrew was by his side. Andrew’s lips brushed the corner of his mouth, and Neil wasn’t falling; he was sinking, gently and comfortably. Andrew was there, his hands rough and lips soft, and Neil was home.
“I know,” Neil said, and Andrew kissed him until Neil pieced himself back together, bit by bit. He sank into the mattress, Andrew pushing himself onto his elbows above him, his fingers curled in Neil’s hair.
When they finally pulled apart, Neil felt raw and exposed, as though his ribcage was cracked open for Andrew to peer inside, to unearth every secret Neil had. Years ago, this feeling would have had Neil sprinting for the nearest airport, but now, it was a comfortable discomfort, a fact of life he never wanted to live without.
“Breakfast,” Andrew said, threading his fingers through Neil’s, and Neil allowed him to tug him into the kitchen, King and Sir close behind.
Andrew made omelets. He added every vegetable he could into Neil’s and ignored the grimace Neil sent his way in response, then slid into the seat next to him. The profoundness of it all, of sitting quietly in the kitchen of their apartment, their cats at their feet and elbows knocking together as they ate, left Neil feeling indescribably fond.
Once Neil finished, he twisted in his seat so his knee pressed against the outside of Andrew’s thigh, unable to tear his gaze away from Andrew’s face.
“Staring,” Andrew said, finishing his last bite.
Neil shrugged, shameless, and set Andrew’s plate on his. He brought them to the sink and cleaned them, and as he set them on the drying rack, Andrew came up behind him, hands on his waist and face tucked against the back of his neck.
“Roof?” Andrew said.
Neil nodded.
They’d discovered the roof entrance just a few days after moving in, although they still had to pick the lock every time they wanted to go up. Andrew brought cigarettes and two cups of coffee, Neil’s plain with a splash of milk, Andrew’s with enough cream to send him to an early grave. The morning sun was hot on Neil’s face, but the concrete was hotter against his back as Andrew pushed him down and kissed him.
Love, Neil thought. The emotion drowned him from within, left him gasping for air and shaking, and he’d never believed he was capable of something so irrefutably good. It was terrifying and disarming and Neil never wanted to stop this feeling, never wanted to be anything less than overwhelmed by Andrew.
He nearly voiced his thoughts, but the words caught in his throat.
Andrew knew. “793%,” he said against Neil’s mouth, his hands fire on Neil’s skin.
I love you too, Neil thought, stretching up to press his lips to Andrew’s neck. Andrew’s breath hitched, small and involuntary, and he pushed himself away, resting his forearms on his bent knees.
Neil sat up and accepted the lit cigarette Andrew handed him a moment later, and the acrid smoke no longer reminded him of his mother burning in a car on the west coast. It made him think of kisses in cool night air and late-night drives, of King and Sir curled up between him and Andrew and the texts from his family that were surely waiting for him. It made him think of this life and happiness he still struggled to believe was his.
Andrew loved him. It seemed surreal, but surety settled in the very center of Neil’s chest, and he knew these were their truths:
Sunrise, Abram, death, and, impossibly, love.