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Andrew barely remembers the first time he let Neil into his bed. At night, anyway. They’d fooled around in Andrew’s bunk plenty of times during the day— that whole never waste an empty dorm room rule really came into its own in the last semester— but at night? With plans of sleep instead of plans of hurriedly getting off? That seemed to have just… happened.
It wasn’t every night. But it was most of them. Kevin’s only reaction to this new occurrence was a barely concealed eye roll the first time he saw Neil’s bedhead poking out of Andrew’s sheets.
After a couple of months, Andrew grew accustomed. Pulling Neil into his bed and pulling him close enough to feel his heart beating became a routine. A habit even.
And then Neil got sick— the stress of the last year/his entire existence so far finally hitting his body in the form of a nasty flu. The result was an irritating and persistent cough, a wildly loud snore, plus a fluctuating fever that made Andrew feel like he was sleeping next to a furnace. After two nights of this, he was banished to the dorm room sofa until he recovered.
Andrew didn’t miss him.
Sleeping with Neil was, really, an inconvenience even before he was sick. Their beds are tiny, and although they weren’t the tallest of men, it was still unnatural to try and fit two people into a bed made for one college student.
Andrew didn’t miss Neil’s stupidly bony elbow poking him in the ribs. The smell of his breath in the morning. The noises his stomach makes after the Foxes have a pizza and movie night.
He didn’t miss the times he’d wake up and find Neil already fucking looking at him. Stupid blue eyes all crusty with sleep.
He didn’t miss waking up first and watching the freckles on Neil's face slowly become more visible as the morning sun crept into the bedroom.
Sharing a bed, Andrew has concluded, is a pain in the ass he can definitely live without.
After a week or so, Neil got better— and after some negotiations with the eternally germ-phobic Kevin, was allowed back into the bedroom.
Neil, fucking pipe dream that he was, has never assumed his place in Andrew’s bed was a given. He went back to his own bunk, and when Andrew woke up that night with a gasp— felt the cold sweat soaking his pillow as a vivid and awful dream lingered in his brain— he was grateful. There’s no place for anyone in Andrew’s bed when he has nightmares. Even Andrew can’t stand to be with himself. He has to get up, make coffee, smoke, wake his body up so that it doesn’t betray him and take him back into the dream’s sweaty grasp.
Neil hears him get up, of course he does, but he knows when he’s not wanted. Knows to keep his distance. Knows to wait.
The nightmare stays away. Insomnia takes its place.
It’s night three of no sleep, and Andrew is staring up at Neil’s bunk, his eyes feeling dry and tired and heavy.
Neil showered before bed, and the scent of their shared vanilla body wash is itching Andrew’s nose.
Neil is restless. Rolling over frequently. Letting out the occasional irritated huff.
After almost thirty minutes of this, Andrew rolls his eyes.
“Neil,” he hisses quietly, although waking Kevin at this hour would be an impressive feat. The man sleeps like a corpse.
Neil stills, then whispers back. “What?”
“You’re fidgeting.”
“I can’t sleep.”
“So? Stop making it my problem.”
Neil huffs again, and Andrew hears him grumpily fluffing up his pillow, before flopping onto his side. There’s silence for a few minutes, and Andrew is about to close his eyes, attempt to sleep yet again, when Neil lets out another put-upon sigh.
Andrew takes a deep breath, then pulls the sheets off of his legs, lifting his feet and pushing them through the slats at the bottom of Neil’s bed, kicking his mattress.
“Wha—“ Neil blurts out, still trying to whisper. “Hey!”
“You’re annoying me,” Andrew says, kicking again, harder this time. “Get down here.”
There’s a long pause. “Really?”
“Get down here or I’ll keep doing this all night. Make you my own personal leg press.”
He pushes his feet up and feels the weight of Neil on his mattress, hears him laugh slightly, ignores the little flutter in his stomach at the sound.
“Jesus,” Neil says. “Fine. Stop.”
Andrew stops, dropping his legs back onto the bed and waiting as Neil shuffles out of his bed and climbs down the ladder of the bunk. Andrew looks up at him, narrowing his eyes when he sees that he’s wearing one of Andrew’s goalie jerseys— a large 03 emblazoned on the front.
“Really?”
Neil shrugs, unashamed. “You know why.”
Andrew does know why. Knows that Neil can sleep better when he can smell Andrew. Usually, at least.
Andrew huffs, then scooches back, making room for Neil on the bed.
“Come on.”
Neil hesitates. “The nightmares?”
“I’ll push you off the bed if I need to.”
Neil considers this, then nods, and carefully climbs into the space Andrew has made. He lies down next to him, face to face, leaving a few inches between their bodies. Andrew watches him until he gets settled.
“Better?” he asks.
Neil nods slightly. “Yeah. You?”
“I was fine. You were the one fidgeting like a toddler.”
“Uh huh,” Neil says, then lays his hand palm up on the pillow between them. “I’ll just leave this here.”
Andrew glares. Neil smirks, unperturbed.
Andrew begrudgingly, hatefully, lifts his hand and tangles his fingers with Neil’s. Neil squeezes his fingers in response, and Andrew feels tension that he didn’t even know he was holding start to seep out from his muscles.
“I like sleeping with you,” Neil says casually. “I’ve missed it.”
“When did you get so insatiable?”
Neil rolls his eyes. “Not what I meant.”
Andrew hums. He knew exactly what Neil meant. “There’s not enough room.”
Neil shuffles forward, the space between them now little more than an inch. “There’s plenty.”
Neil locks eyes with him, his stare as intense as ever. Andrew swallows, then moves forward enough to gently kiss Neil’s nose. Neil’s lips crack into a smug smile. Andrew kisses that, too.
“Sometimes I sleep better alone,” he mumbles against Neil’s lips. “It’s nothing to do with you.”
“I know. Sometimes I do, too.”
“Sometimes I want space.”
Neil nods. “Yep.”
“Sometimes you’re too gross.”
Neil nods again. “Uh huh.”
But , Andrew wants to say, but his mouth gets stuck forming the B, but sometimes you being here is all I need.
“Come here,” he says instead.
“I’m here,” Neil replies.
Andrew rolls his eyes and tugs at Neil’s hand, and Neil smiles again (that smile— always comes to him so fucking easily these days) before closing the gap between them.
He presses against Andrew, chest-to-chest, foreheads pressed together, and breathes out a long, relieved sigh.
“Thank you,” Neil says.
“Shut up and sleep.”
Neil closes his eyes, his breaths slowing almost immediately. Andrew almost rolls his eyes, wants to make fun of how far gone Neil is. The fucking rabbit with the addictive personality. Obsessed with sharing Andrew’s space and stealing his body heat.
Before he can, his eyelids feel heavier. His breath syncing with Neil’s perfectly as he starts to drift off into a blissfully blank sleep.
Sometimes sleeping with Neil is nothing but an inconvenience.
Sometimes he can’t remember how he ever slept without him.