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It was the nineteenth of January, and Andrew was perched atop the roof, a cigarette clutched in one hand and his mind abuzz. Life was generally unpleasant, and he was doing his level best to forget that he had to play a game in just a few short hours.
It was a Bad Day, set off by his conversation with Neil the night before. Cass—his almost-mother, the only person in the world who had ever loved him for who he was—was a forbidden topic of conversation. Neil should have known that, should never have brought her up so casually, should have—
Andrew wasn’t angry at Neil, not really. Neil pushed the limits of Andrew’s patience as far as they would go, but he knew a ‘no’ when he heard one. When Andrew signaled that he’d gone too far, Neil had backed off. No, he wasn’t angry at Neil.
Andrew was tired, and he was lonely, and he missed his mother with a desperation that sickened him. Cass had been the first bright spot in his world of darkness, and living his life without her warm presence left a gaping hole in his heart. Living with the knowledge that she hated him—because of course she did, he was the reason her son was dead—made it all so much worse.
He tensed when he heard the access door squeak open behind him, relaxed when he recognized Neil’s soft footsteps padding toward him, and tensed again on principle because Neil and safety should not mean the same thing.
Neil sat down beside him, just barely within arms reach. It was a show of trust, Andrew knew—when the striker first came to Palmetto, he never would have dared get that close to anyone, for fear that they would reach out and hurt him. He’d seen the same trick a million times in foster care, had used it himself more than once. On any other day, the knowledge of Neil’s trust in him would have been a heady, intoxicating thing. As it was, he tucked the knowledge away to consider later, when he didn’t feel quite so tempted to throw himself off of the roof.
It was silent for an age, the two of them sharing space in peaceful harmony. Andrew hated how soothing Neil’s presence had become, like a balm over the most jagged parts of him.
Somewhere in all the quiet, Neil shifted forward to rest his elbows against his knees and opened his mouth.
“My mom,” he said, “was named Mary. She died when I was seventeen.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Andrew asked, refusing to look at Neil. “It’s not your turn to give a truth.”
“You can have this one for free,” Neil said. “My name was Will when it happened. We’d been caught in Seattle by Moriyama men. The guy was aiming for me, but she pushed me out of the way. Got a lead pipe to the stomach for her efforts. She died in California a day later.”
Neil paused for a moment, though Andrew could tell he had more to say. “…I don’t know if she liked me very much,” he admitted. “She loved me, I know that, but…” Neil trailed off, and Andrew finally turned to look at him. The redhead’s gaze was distant as he stared out at the campus far below, his right hand idly rubbing at a scar that ran across his left.
“You don’t need to tell me this,” said Andrew.
”I do,” Neil insisted, looking up to meet his eyes. “I pushed too hard yesterday. I hurt you. Now we’re even.”
“A truth for a truth,” Andrew mused.
“A mother for a mother.”
“I don’t need you trying to protect my feelings,” Andrew said.
“Maybe not,” Neil shot back, “but somebody has to do it and we both know that it’s not going to be you.”
Silence descended once again, something warm brewing in Andrew’s gut at the thought that Neil cared enough to do this, to make right that perceived misstep, to give up one of his fiercely protected secrets for Andrew’s sake. He pushed down the emotion that threatened to bubble up and over at the thought.
It dawned on Andrew that this new revelation contradicted the past Neil had given him back in the fall. Neil had said that his parents were both long dead, killed by the Moriamas when he was still a boy. Now, he said that his mother had only been dead for two years. Nothing was adding up, and it frustrated Andrew to no end.
“Your story is full of holes,” Andrew finally said. “You told me your mother died a long time ago. You said that was the reason you ran.”
Neil sighed. “I lied. What you know is closer to the truth than anything anyone else knows, but… There are things I can’t tell you, for your own safety as well as mine.”
“I don’t need your protection,” Andrew growled, angrily stubbing out his neglected cigarette.
”Maybe not, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t ask you to carry this. I won’t. ”
“Why?”
Neil sighed. “I’m not willing to put anyone else in danger. You don’t understand what it is that I’m running from. These people… they’re dangerous. Far more dangerous than someone like Riko could ever hope to be. If you tried to fight them, they would kill you and anyone they think is close to you. That means your brother. Nicky. Betsy and Wymack. Even the rest of the team. You can’t win against these people, Andrew.”
“I can try,” he said, and he meant it. Neil was nothing, Neil meant nothing, but Andrew would burn the whole world to ash if it meant keeping him safe.
“No,” Neil said simply, foolishly.
“You make it damn hard for me to keep up my end of our deal when you won't tell me what you're running from.”
“I told you it wouldn't be easy,” Neil shot back with a fleeting, wry smile. His expression sobered again as he continued. “I will not let you die for me, Andrew. I refuse.”
A warmth that he refused to identify filled Andrew’s chest as he absorbed the implication of Neil's words.
As a rule, people didn't care much about Andrew’s wellbeing. He wasn't bothered by it; it was just a truth of the world. The sky was blue, two plus two equaled four, and people did not care if Andrew lived or died.
Of course, Neil just had to come in and disrupt the balance of Andrew’s universe like it was nothing. He didn't know what else he expected from the junkie, if he was honest with himself. Neil had been proving him wrong at every corner this year, it was only logical to assume he would do it again now.
Something dangerously close to hope rushed through him, heady and terrifying. He didn't know what to do with it, so he elected to ignore it.
“Keep your secrets,” he finally said, at once an acceptance and a dismissal. Neil rose without another word, turning to walk back inside.
Almost without thinking, he opened his mouth again. “Neil,” he said, and the striker froze in place and turned back toward him.
“Yeah?”
Thank you, he thought. Stay, he wanted to say. I’ve felt like I was dying all day, he wanted to confess. I don't know how to be alive, he thought, but being near you makes me want to try.
In the end, he couldn't say any of that. He simply nodded, a single tip of his head that he hoped conveyed his appreciation for Neil's confession.
It seemed like it worked; Neil nodded back at him before turning once again and leaving Andrew alone with his thoughts.
In the end, it didn't change much. Later that night, Neil still found himself drenched in blood. His phone still chimed with nightly texts for weeks afterward. There was still a game, and a riot, and a terrifying night in which Andrew thought he'd lost him for good. In the end, he still discovered the truth of Neil’s past while his hands were wrapped in a vice grip around Kevin’s throat.
In the end, they still tumbled headfirst into their something, still traded truths and cigarettes and kisses and trust.
Nothing much changed with Neil’s confession—except, of course, for Andrew.
Neil had seen past Andrew's stony exterior, had seen the way Andrew was suffering. More than that, he cared. He cared enough to find him and make it right, and if Andrew hadn't been well and truly fucked before, he certainly was now.
In Neil’s story, his confession changed nothing. It didn't reduce his suffering, it didn't change the outcome of his disastrous freshman year. It didn't do much at all, really.
In Andrew’s story, Neil became someone who cared about Andrew's wellbeing. Neil became someone who wanted to keep Andrew safe, a stark contrast to all of the people who only wanted Andrew to keep them safe. In Andrew's story, he fell just a little bit harder and cared just a little bit less about whether or not he deserved it. In Andrew’s story, it meant that there was someone in Andrew's corner just a little bit sooner, someone who was willing to fight for him.
In Neil's story, that day was just another traded truth. But for Andrew?
In Andrew’s story, it changed everything.