Archive of Our Own

“If you tell a big enough lie and tell it frequently enough, it will be believed.”
―  Walter Langer

Would it be considered a lie if you believe it wholeheartedly?

Andrew doesn’t believe. He definitely doesn’t have a heart big enough to believe anything wholeheartedly. Andrew believes nothing.

His nothing.

Andrew believes a liar, and oh, isn’t it fucking poetic? But Neil is no liar, not with Andrew. No, with Andrew he is so fucking honest, that Andrew feels his blood boil.

Neil has no right to be so fucking honest with Andrew. Neil had no right to be so fucking dishonest with him; lying about the countdown, about his father, about his whole life. Neil was lying, because that’s what liars do.

Now? Now, Neil doesn’t lie. He is fucking honest. Neil with his ‘if it means losing you, then no’, ‘it’s always yes with you’, and ‘this isn’t nothing’ is trusting with all his truths in Andrew’s hands, and what is he supposed to do with them?

Andrew collects Neil’s truths, because they are his. These truths are given freely and without any masks. Andrew protects them deep inside with knifes and fists because that’s what Andrew does.

Andrew protects Neil’s truths and keeps lying to him.

And that’s what it is all about.

It’s all about his nothing, who could never be nothing.

The thing is, it is a long time since Andrew actually called his thing with Neil nothing. Andrew might be self-destructive, but he wasn’t stupid. Feelings (this damn word) are not a foreign concept to him. Unfortunately.

So for once, Andrew doesn’t deny that he likes Neil’s smart mouth. Because Andrew is not a liar. Or stupid.

Their this is actually something. Only for them, something private, and it definitely shouldn’t concern other foxes. Their this is something Andrew is willing to keep and keep safe. Their this is something Andrew intends to keep safe.

They don’t have any deals. Not any more. Now Andrew has a deal with himself and his own damn feelings.

When Neil kisses him, he is so sickeningly happy that Andrew doesn’t deny their this between them. Andrew doesn’t deny from now on.

Andrew doesn’t admit that it’s something, either.

Why would he? Neil’s already knows.

“I hate you,” says Andrew, kissing Neil roughly and hard.

I hate you, believe me, because I don’t believe me any more.

Neil only grins, and his grin is so small and a bit lopsided.

“I know,” and Andrew feels in his gut that Neil doesn’t believe a word. Neil grins and pulls Andrew closer, and closer, and closer.

And Andrew burns. Slowly and to the ground. To his core. Andrew melts into Neil’s lips, and it’s only one damn kiss, get a grip, Minyard.

They are covered in lies, standing alone in the middle of nowhere. Andrew moves Neil closer, and there is no closer between them. But Andrew burns, he needs his Neil near him. His hands, so damn gently, touch Neil’s waist and hips. Neil arches his back into Andrew’s hands. Fully gives himself to Andrew, trusting him not to harm him, trusting him to keep him safe. They are not bound with a deal.

They are still covered in lies. These lies get all over Andrew’s head, and he sees it. Feels it. Recognises it.

They are covered in lies, and now, they are not falling from Neil’s lips. Neil’s lips are full of content and moans.

These lies are falling from Andrew’s lips.

Neil is falling apart with Andrew’s lips on him.

Andrew has already fallen. Once and forever.

He’s such a sap.

“I hate you,” and a fucking liar.

Oh, how roles are reversed.

Neil doesn’t believe a lie from Andrew’s lips.

The thing is, Neil is high after anaesthesia. Who would have thought?

Neil’s high after anaesthesia, and luckily, without any new scars on him.

Wisdom tooth. Who would have thought that this would be a reason for Neil to try anaesthesia for the first time in his poor orphan life?

The Foxes are crowding their baby fox, looking out for him every minute, as if someone can jump in the window or from under the bed. They are smiling, trying to say all at once, and Neil just … giggles.

Andrew stops. Waits. Thinks. Reconsiders his life.

Fucking giggle. Neil can giggle. Neil does giggle.

Andrew doesn’t care.

Neil giggles again, like a little shit he is, and looks right at Andrew. Not looks. Stares. Long and without a hint of embarrassment. Does Neil even know what embarrassment is? Probably no.

Neil stares at Andrew, covering him in the last bit of honesty in his own palace of lies.

Andrew is covered in lies, like a damn hypocrite he is.

Neil is staring, as if Andrew is the answer to all of his questions and mysteries.

Andrew is not. And Neil doesn’t care. Even a little bit.

“Stop staring,” Neil giggles. Again.

“I like staring at you.”

Neil is full of honesty, and Andrew is just one fucking lie.

Ding-dong, how does it feel?

“I hate you,” that’s how it feels.

Neil giggles again. Andrew doesn’t even care about the Foxes’ reaction.

“It’s nothing,” giggles, giggles, giggles, giggles. “Hate is better than nothing.”

Neil is full of honesty right now.

Neil is full of false thoughts that he could even be nothing.

Andrew is full of lies, and Neil, Neil, seems to believe all of them.

The problem is, Andrew cannot stop thinking about it.

Every kiss Neil plants on his lying lips tastes sour, as if lies have a taste. Neil notices, of course he notices, he always does. However, he doesn’t even try to ask Andrew about the reason. Neil doesn’t do anything Andrew wouldn’t like, so Neil just stops kissing him altogether.

And that’s absolutely not what Andrew wants. Andrew doesn’t need Neil to get stuck in his head and stop touching Andrew completely. Andrew doesn’t need Neil to drift away from him, Andrew doesn’t need their this to fall apart just because he is incapable of basic human commination. Andrew just needs Neil closer to him.

And the thing is, Neil needs it too.

Neil, who keeps staring at Andrew at any given moment. Neil, who keeps his distance because Andrew is stuck in his own head, full of lies and wants. Neil doesn’t ask because Andrew doesn’t even show that he wants to open up. Neil doesn’t push.

And the thing is, maybe Andrew needs this push.

But now, now every Neil’s kiss taste bitter and sour, because for Neil, for his Neil, this is nothing. As Andrew used to say. For Neil, he is nothing, as it used to be.

Neil would never guess that for Andrew, his nothing became a whole everything just in a blink of an eye. Just in one ‘0’ on forgotten phone. Just after one call from the FBI telling that Neil’s in Baltimore. Just in one cry from Kevin, convinced that Neil (his fucking nothing) was brutally murdered, while Andrew had no idea. All while Andrew let himself forget about every injustice in their world and kissed Neil stupid.

Would Neil still consider Andrew’s ‘you are nothing’ a lie if he believes it wholeheartedly?

The thing is, Andrew knows the answer to this question.

And the answer is no, Neil wouldn’t, doesn’t. Neil believes Andrew and all his petty lies. For Neil, he is nothing because Andrew said it again and again. For Neil, he means nothing because his shitty mum said it again and again, carving it in the mind of her child.

Neil doesn’t mean a lot to himself.

And the thing is, it is also Andrew’s fault.

Day number ten.

Ten.

Tenth day of not kissing Neil.

It’s not avoidance or cowardice. It’s just Neil initiates absolute nothing and doesn’t insist. And oh, isn’t it so funny?

Neil doesn’t avoid or hide. He’s always nearby, always staring and grinning. But with Andrew? With Andrew, Neil acts, as if he is nothing. As if he doesn’t matter. As if Andrew … as if Andrew just doesn’t want his any more.

Andrew is covered in lies, and these lies keep chocking him every damn minute. And now this lies keep hurting Neil too.

“Roof,” Andrew’s voice’s a bit rough from disuse. Neil shortly nods, fidgeting with his fingers. Nervous.

This nervousness hurts something in Andrew, something he definitely doesn’t want to think about.

The sky is covered with grey autumn clouds. Andrew is covered in lies. And Neil, Neil, is covered in smoke from Andrew’s cigarette. This is familiar. This is something they have done before. This is something so fucking intimate, Andrew is sure he will explode.

Neil doesn’t shield from smoke. He just stares at Andrew, holding absolute nothing behind his blue eyes. They are not supposed to be like that. They are not supposed to be so dead and unflinching in the smoke. Neil is not supposed to be so indifferent, so hurt.

Andrew sees it now. Their this? Andrew is fucking it up with his bare hands.

“Yes or no?” Familiar. This is the foundation of their this. This is the beginning.

But Neil doesn’t say ‘yes’ or ‘it’s always yes with you’. No, he just stares at Andrew as if for the first time.

“I understand Andrew,” he says, as if it explains at least anything, “you don’t have to if you don’t want.”

Andrew wants nothing. His nothing. 

Andrew is silent.

“We don’t have any deal. We have nothing. You don’t owe me anything, you said you would get bored of me,” Neil hesitates a bit, “Just … just say you don’t want to see, I can-”

“Don’t.” Neil stills. “Don’t you dare finish this sentence.”

That’s it. That’s the moment for Andrew to speak.

Andrew is covered in lies, but who is better at untangling lies than Neil is?

Neil waits patiently. Blue eyes are still similar to grey sky.

“You,” Andrew starts, faltering almost immediately. How can he open his heart and show all its wonders to someone else? How can he show his heart when he was so sure he didn’t even have it? “You understand nothing.”

You understand nothing, our nothing. You understand me. You see me and see everything but the imaginary monster from everyone’s stories. You know me, and you know our this. You are supposed to know, better than everyone else does, that our this means everything to me.

“I don’t do anything I don’t want.” Truth. “I asked you to stay. So don’t you dare run away at every mere inconvenience.” 

Oh, Andrew, what a damn hypocrite you are.

But Neil bristles at the accusation, nearly hurting his neck at the speed he turns to look at Andrew.

“I don’t run. I said I wouldn’t be like them, and you clearly don’t want me any more. I wouldn’t force myself in your life because of my fucking wishes.”

“Your wishes?”

“Oh Andrew, don’t play stupid, you understand what I mean.”

“I assure you I do not.”

“Yes, my wishes. You know I want this, even if it doesn’t matter to you-”

“Neil.”

“What, Andrew? I wouldn’t lie that this doesn’t matter to me because it fucking does. A lot. But my wishes don’t matter if you don’t want me any more.”

“Because you matter less than I do, right?”

“Yes.”

That’s the only yes from Neil that Andrew loathes completely. Neil shouldn’t be so sure of it, so quick to answer.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

That’s just Neil. Oh no, not just. That’s Neil, and Andrew is so, so afraid of losing him. This fear paralyses him to the ground, as if it’s Baltimore once again.

Andrew lays his hand between them, palm up. Neil looks at it for a few moments, and Andrew’s heart nearly jumps out of his chest before he feels warmness on his hand. Neil’s touch is gentle and feather-like. Nearly unnoticeable.

Andrew squeezes his hand tightly, as if afraid Neil can disappear in the air.

Neil squeezes back. Once. Tightly.

Maybe, and just maybe, Andrew has one more chance to fix their this.

“You, Neil,” the wind is howling somewhere around them, shooing all the lies away, “you would never be nothing, Abram.” 

Abram. Abram. Abram. His Abram. His and no one else’s.

Just his Abram, who has chosen to stay here near Andrew.

“You said-”

“I know what I said. It doesn’t matter. But this,” Andrew points between them, “this matters.”

One squeeze.

One silent yes.

One whispered, “Stay, Abram.”

One certain, “Always.”

The sky is still covered in grey clouds.

But Andrew, Andrew’s no longer covered in lies.