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Neil’s first court appearance was scheduled in the middle of his sophomore year, the weather worsening in quality the closer it got. He hadn’t lived in South Carolina for long, but Neil was pretty sure the cold temperatures and rain were a bad omen. When the day arrived, Wymack told him not to come to practice until he felt a genuine version of ‘fine’, and his professors were told to accommodate him in his absence. It was as if Neil was to be grateful for the flexibility, as if any of this was his choice. But the FBI made it clear that testifying was the only way to keep Neil Josten alive. If not, he’d go back to being a dead man walking. And maybe Neil could’ve dealt with that before, but now, he had quite a few people he wanted to be around. Running was much easier before he had a life worth living. Movie nights in the dorm, where everyone ended up falling asleep in the same room. The halftime pep talk when the entire team had an excited gleam in their eyes, even Andrew.
Andrew.
Andrew and the way he turned off Neil’s 5 AM alarm when he thought Neil needed more sleep. Andrew and the way he had begun allowing Neil to kiss his forehead in the dark. Andrew and the fact that he wore his emotions in a way only Neil could understand.
Yeah, Neil didn’t want to explain to a jury what had been so terrible that he and his mother had run for a decade nonstop, but he would do it for Neil Josten to have one more day in this life.
So, as Neil prepared to board a bus to Baltimore in the clothes Nicky picked out for him, he swallowed his dread as best he could. Andrew leaned on his idling Maserati, arms crossed over his chest. There was a worry line between his brows that only Neil would notice.
“I can still come with you, you know,” he said flatly, gesturing towards the bus. Neil smiled softly, adjusting his backpack.
“No you can’t. You have school. Plus, the team needs you. Especially with me gone,” Neil reasoned, smirking. Andrew didn’t seem to find the humor in this. In fact, Neil swore he seemed sad, in a way that wasn’t visible in his expression.
“ You need me,” Andrew pointed out. “I’m the one who keeps your dumbass alive.”
“You’re right. I think the FBI will be on top of this one, though.”
“They weren’t last time,” Andrew reminded him — not to scare — but to warn. But Neil didn’t need any reminding about how dangerous Baltimore was for him. It was precisely why Andrew wasn’t coming. Not if Neil could help it, anyway.
“Hey,” he murmured, stepping towards Andrew. “I’ll come back.” There were as many layers to an onion as there were to that sentence, and it made his eyes sting like one, too. It was a promise he hoped he could keep, that everything wouldn’t shatter like it did last time. He knew he couldn’t do that to Andrew again. If he did, Andrew would probably kill him (if he didn’t die there).
Neil was reminded of their reunion in the motel a year ago. Andrew’s hand dangling above his head in a handcuff, then clenching into a fist. His damp hand holding the back of Neil’s neck, fingers finding their way into his hair. The touch was somewhere between furious and worshipping, and Neil knew at that moment that “this” could never be “nothing” again. To Andrew’s annoyance, Neil guessed.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Andrew said quietly, reaching out to grab the sides of Neil’s face. He tilted his head down so that Neil’s ice blue eyes met hazel. “Call if you need me.” It was a command, or maybe it was begging. Either way, it left no room for disagreement. Neil gently grabbed his wrist.
“I will.” Andrew nodded, somewhat satisfied, then pulled Neil down and pressed his mouth firmly to the top of his head. Neil stopped himself from gasping in surprise, worrying that it would startle Andrew. When he pulled away, Neil hesitantly smiled.
“I’ll see you,” he said softly, knowing that the trial could last any allotted amount of time. Andrew nodded again, then turned back to the car.
Neil’s breath shook as he steeled himself and turned towards the bus. Nathaniel awaited him in Baltimore, but he knew Neil would wait for him here.
The trial lasted a week, and it wouldn’t be the last. For the foreseeable future of Neil’s life, the FBI would be using him as a witness when the opportunity presented itself. The thought was exhausting, and planted a heavy seed of dread in Neil’s stomach. Could he really live like that? Reliving the same thing over and over, never really escaping the person he was trying so hard to leave behind. It made him feel like a trapped, feral animal, willing to naw its limbs off to escape.
And could you please tell us what he did to you after defending your mother, Mr. Josten?
He put my hand on the table and pulled out a cleaver. He said that the more I screamed, the more that he cut.
And then what did he do?
He cut off the tips of four of my fingers. On my left hand. I screamed, so he flipped my hand over and cut my palm open. He kept going down my arm until I stopped. Otherwise, he probably would’ve let me bleed out.
And how old were you, Mr. Josten?
I was eight.
Neil’s headed pounded as he leaned it against the bus window. The zombie-like state he’d been in for the past ten days did not improve with the knowledge that he was going home. He was beginning to wonder if it would even still feel like home, after being Nathaniel for so long. The thought made him queasier than the bumpy roads of Baltimore. He reluctantly pulled out his phone, staring down at missed calls and text messages. Ignoring them, he pulled up Andrew’s number and shot him a text.
‘Heading back now.’ A few minutes later, his phone buzzed with a surprisingly quick reply from the infamously unresponsive Andrew.
‘Nice to hear from you. I’ll pick you up at the station.’ Neil thought about thanking him for only a second before shoving his phone back in his coat. Andrew would find ‘thank you’s’ or ‘I’m sorry’s’ stupid. It wasn’t how they operated. He watched the outskirts of Maryland roll by, a hollow feeling overtaking him. In South Carolina, he was Neil, and in Baltimore, he was Nathaniel. In between, he was just a ghost. A fractured piece of a real person.
The ghost wished he had a cigarette, and closed his eyes for some restless sleep.
Andrew was waiting for him in his Exy gear, which meant he had either left after, before or during practice. Neil imagined Kevin was annoyed by any of the three. He wondered if he looked as hollow as he felt as he sauntered towards Andrew. The closer he got, the better he could see the light dusting of freckles across Andrew’s nose, the green in his eyes, and the more he felt like crying.
“Hey,” he said instead, offering a false smile that he feared resembled his father. He was paranoid, bouncing on the tips of his toes as he eyed the strangers around them. He didn’t know how he’d lived like this for so long — he felt like a human motion detector. He felt every scar on his body like it had just been put there.
“You look like shit,” Andrew muttered, pulling cigarettes out of his bag like he could read Neil’s mind. Neil let out a scoff that was much closer to genuine amusement, and took an offered cigarette with shaky hands. Andrew’s fingers lingered for a moment. Neil took a heavenly drag of his cigarette, then looked back towards Andrew. For the first time in a week, being stared at like he was see-through was comforting. Still, he called him out on it.
“Staring.” Andrew rolled his eyes, the hint of a smirk on the corner of his mouth.
“You’d stare too, if this much of a mess was standing in front of you,” he retorted quickly, spinning to open the car door. Neil kept his cigarette in his mouth, figuring Andrew would allow him to smoke in the car after his shitstorm of a week.
The leather beneath his hands was familiar, and so was the blonde head in his peripheral vision. His chest stung as he realized, he had missed this . He wasn’t sure how he’d survived without it. The thought was startlingly clingy, and he felt his cheeks redden. He’d never had someone to come home to before.
“Fox tower?” Andrew asked, looking at Neil expectantly. Neil frowned.
“Where else would we go?” Andrew’s face was unreadable, blank, but his words were heavy.
“Columbia. A Waffle House. Wherever you want.” Neil felt his blush deepen, but he didn’t break eye contact. It was one of the most genuine things Andrew had ever said to him — anyone had ever said to him. Andrew, despite his need for control, his disregard of others’ opinions, was giving Neil a choice. Implying he’d take him there, stay with him. The autonomy that they both had a warped relationship with sat heavily between them.
Neil finally broke away from the intense stare. He gazed out the window. Rain was beginning to fall, and it was around dinner time. But Neil wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t really anything. He was just here, next to Andrew, and that was all he wanted.
“Columbia,” he answered finally. He didn’t look at Andrew as a felt the car move into reverse or peel out of the parking lot. He knew Andrew would take him wherever he wanted in that moment, no questions asked, no confused expressions.
Exy and the foxes could wait for one more day.
Neil used his keys to open the door to the house in Columbia. He had taken them with him to Baltimore for reasons he didn’t feel like thinking about. Night had settled, and the two of them were quiet and tired. They were almost always quiet and tired, but today seemed especially so. Once Andrew had locked the door behind them and turned the yellow hallway light on, Neil turned to face him. He tossed his bag aside. Neil wasn’t sure why, but the drive here hadn’t felt like the place to begin talking. But upon entering the house that felt just a little bit like his, he felt the need to break this silence.
“Thank you,” he whispered to Andrew. Everything felt too delicate to speak in a normal voice.
“You have nothing to thank me for,” Andrew replied, meeting his gaze with the same intensity from earlier. Neil smiled, exhausted and unwilling to play games tonight.
“Yes I do. Of course I do.” He wondered if Andrew would ever understand the extent of which he’d given Neil. Part of him hoped not, for fear of Andrew taking it back. The keys, the kisses, the ‘I hate you’s’ and percentages.
“What happened during the trial?” Andrew asked, stepping closer to him. Slowly, he reached up to grab Neil’s neck, his eyes asking for yes or no. Neil nodded, relishing in the warm weight and the gentle touch.
“Lots. Too much to tell you tonight.” Andrew continued to stare, concern and fury beneath that mask of apathy. How could Neil be the only one to see it?
“Anything?” Andrew asked. Anything Neil wanted to tell him, anything Neil wanted at all. Neil took a leap of faith, leaning to press his forehead against Andrew’s. He closed his eyes, feeling Andrew’s breath against his mouth.
“My dad was a bastard. I missed you,” Neil admitted, feeling his voice shake. The panic and grief of the past ten days threatened to bubble up, but he pushed on. “And I’m scared.” Three truths for free. He hoped Andrew could accept that.
“Yes or no?” He heard Andrew ask, and before he could even finish the word, Andrew’s lips were against his. Soft and close, harsh but gentle at the same time. Andrew’s nose brushed his cheek. He felt Andrew’s hand slide away from his neck and up to his face, and he started to caress the scars that wrecked Neil’s cheek. The motion was causing Neil’s grief to bubble over, and a warm tear met Andrew’s gentle fingers. Andrew kissed the damp spot, then Neil’s jaw, then his neck. Not in the tantalizing way he usually did, but in a way that was almost desperate, like he was trying to cover as much of Neil as he could. Neil dropped his head into the junction between Andrew’s neck and shoulder, wrapping his arms around his back and squeezing him tightly. He ran his hands along Andrew’s shoulder blades before gripping his shirt in his fist. Andrew settled into the embrace, reaching up to thread his hand into Neil’s hair. The two of them stood in the hallway, swaying a barely noticeable amount. Andrew smelled like sandalwood and pine, and Neil had no idea that feeling this way was possible. He kept his crying quiet and reserved, but the emotion overpowering him refused to let up. But Andrew said anything, and Neil was willing to believe Andrew would stay here with him forever if he needed it.
“187 percent,” Andrew whispered into his hair. Their secret language. The one Neil Josten had created with Andrew Minyard. He let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. For the first time in a week, he could remember why he was protecting Neil Josten. Andrew pulled away, meeting his quota for a hug. He kept his hands on Neil’s head and back though, and it was more than enough.
“Bed,” he said softly, thumb brushing Neil’s cheek again. Neil nodded, turning to grab his bag, but Andrew swept it up before he had the chance. He stalked off towards his room, their room, assuming Neil would follow. Neil stared after him for a moment, allowing relief to wash over him. He’d face Baltimore and his past as many times as it took in order to keep this.