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At first, Neil woke up slowly, resurfacing from a night without any dreams, just a warm blanket of exhausted sleep. They'd gotten home late from Eden's last night, accompanied by Nicky's drunken singing and Aaron's bitching, and he'd fallen asleep the second he'd pulled the blanket up.
The pillow under his cheek was warm—not the uncomfortable kind, the one that made him flip it to the cold side, but the cozy warmth that kept him below the threshold of full consciousness. The house was still quiet, no noises of the coffee machine or Aaron and Nicky bickering, Neil could only hear his own pulse, and—something else? A thumping sound? The blanket he was hugging was breathing slowly, evenly—Neil jerked back, crashed on the floor with a thud, hitting his head on the bedside table.
His head had been resting on Andrew's chest.
Andrew rolled onnto his side and looked at him, the morning haze allowing his features to form a frown. "Neil?" he asked, voice raspy.
"Fuck, I'm so sorry," Neil whispered, wide awake now, trying to back up further, but his legs were tangled in his blanket and he just kicked in vain.
Andrew propped himself up on one elbow, eyes flicking to the bedside table with his knives. Dread washed through Neil. Shit shit shit.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—I didn't know—" His voice broke and he tried to take a deep breath, couldn't get it through, choked on his breath instead.
"Neil—" Andrew said, pushing himself up. His hair was all messed up, a picture that normally tugged at Neil's chest in a way he hadn't known before, and his eyes widened.
"I'll sleep downstairs," Neil cut him off. Kevin was on the couch, and Neil had gotten soft with his sleeping accommodations after a year with the Foxes, but the beanbags would still be fine, if he would even be able to sleep again, would probably just go running instead—he just needed to get down there, to give Andrew room. He struggled with the blanket, trying to untangle it.
"I don't know how it happened, I'm sorry, I'll make sure it doesn't happen again," he said, desperately trying to salvage this—knew he was only making the situation worse, apologizing didn't help, didn't excuse his actions, but he couldn't stop, adrenaline coursing through his body and making him ramble. Neil bit his lower lip, using the sharp pain to get a bit of control over himself.
"Neil," Andrew said again. He sounded far too calm for Neil violating his boundaries like this—Neil hurt, he hated when he was the reason for Andrew to withdraw, the gates shutting and walls coming up.
Finally, he got his legs free and stood up. "I'm going downstairs, I'm sorry," he said, still trying to shut up.
"Neil, wait," Andrew said and Neil froze. He just wanted to leave, wanted to give Andrew the space to deal with the emotional backlash of being triggered, but something in Andrew's voice stopped him from running.
"What?" he asked, stupidly.
"Don't go."
Don't go? Neil opened his mouth and found nothing to say, staring at Andrew instead.
Sometimes, Andrew wanted him around on bad days, after something had triggered him, but not if it was Neil who'd been the problem. "What?" he asked again.
Andrew pinched his nose, looking exasperated.
Exasperated was good, better than scared.
"You didn't do anything wrong."
Again, Neil opened and closed his mouth. After a few seconds of Andrew staring at him, he asked, "But I touched you? My leg was over your body."
"Yeah."
"I didn't—I'm sorry," Neil repeated. Andrew wasn't making much sense, none of this was making much sense—if his head wouldn't be hurting like this he would have thought he was still dreaming, some weird kind of nightmare.
Andrew took a deep breath and lay back down, pulling his blanket over his body, back to the wall. Feeling—finally—dismissed, Neil picked up his blanket and turned to the door.
"It was me," Andrew said, causing Neil to stop again.
"What?"
Andrew sighed. "Come back to bed, Neil. I pulled you closer."
Andrew… Andrew had pulled him closer?
They rarely cuddled. When they did, it was initiated by Neil, who found himself craving physical contact with Andrew more and more, with each day of this wild, absurd life of freedom that he was now leading the urge to touch Andrew was getting stronger, to lean against him, to have that physical connection.
Andrew indulged him on good days, said yes more often than no by now, but full-on cuddling was still so rare. Sometimes, after sex, when Andrew's brain was as blissfully empty as Neil's and the shadows of his past were not lurking around the corners, they stayed tangled up, Neil revelling in every second of it.
But that always followed the same pattern—Neil asking, Andrew agreeing.
Neil had given Andrew blanket permission to touch him weeks ago, up on the roof of Fox Tower, when Andrew had allowed him to touch his chest, not freezing up that time. At some point, their relationship had developed beyond the transactional nature of their exchange of truths, but Neil had still felt compelled to give something back in return.
Offering this new found truth about himself, how he was longing for Andrew's touch, how it calmed him to have Andrew's body pressed against his own, had felt like a worthy response. Andrew had scooted over, pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged, rested his knee on Neil's thigh, and told him he hated him.
Neil hadn't looked at him, not wanting to push his luck that far, and still gambled on it, adding that Andrew could always touch him—that touch wasn't a trigger for him. He'd expected Andrew to get pissed at the always, but Andrew had stayed silent.
Now, Neil was still staring dumbly at Andrew. Who seemed to be losing his patience with him. "What are you waiting for?"
Slowly, Neil approached the bed, almost tripping over the duvet he was still grasping. He bit back the question if it was really okay, knowing better than to second-guess Andrew's consent like that.
Making sure he didn't touch Andrew, he lay back down, his pillow cold against his heated skin.
Andrew's groan made him freeze again. "You're particularly annoying today, Josten."
Before Neil could ask, he was pulled over, his head coming to rest on Andrew's chest again.
"Oh," he muttered, hiding his smile in the soft fabric of Andrew's shirt when he felt Andrew take a deep breath underneath him—the kind he took when he was annoyed, not when he was fighting off a panic attack.
"Sleep," Andrew ordered, voice clipped.
Neil closed his eyes and fell asleep, listening to Andrew's heartbeat thumping peacefully.