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All of our hurt (is what makes us human)

Summary:

Neil never really cared about how his scars made him look, for how they littered every inch of his skin. The Foxes had never given him any reason to. They were just there—like cause and effect of his life spent fighting, showing his will to not just survive, but live.

So why couldn't his mind break free from the endless circle of memories it was trapped in, and give in to the clutches of sleep? Why did he find himself in a basement miles away, a car speeding down a road, just because of one bad dream?

It was okay though. Andrew was next to him, and only a few words from him were needed to clear his treacherous mind, no matter how crypt or clipped.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Neil was tired.

Supremely so—their match against the Jackals earlier had had him running to the bone, and as usual, the line with their mix of new recruits had been messed up enough that they'd barely managed to break the tie and pull off a win before the final buzzer rang.

The Monster's trip to Eden's had been a blur in Neil's mind, exhaustion weighing down each of his bones, making him acutely aware of how much sleep he'd managed to snatch the night before. He'd woken up shaken at three, riddled with pictures of a basement miles and miles away from his dorm room each time he blinked, a car echoing with his screams speeding down some unknown highway.

He couldn't have been happier when Andrew announced that it was time to head out.

Having already changed out, Neil collapsed on Andrew's bed and listened to Andrew move around downstairs, checking locks before changing out himself.

He was already half asleep by the time Andrew entered the room, his steps light. Unlike Neil's ungraceful self, he carefully took his position on the bed, his back against the wall.

The bed dipped under his weight and Neil cracked open an eye. Andrew's face was as impassive as ever, and Neil hummed in acknowledgment before shutting his eye again.

He was surprised, however, when a hand settled on the back of his neck.

"You're tired," Andrew noted.

Neil shifted to properly face Andrew. "It was a busy day."

Andrew's hand squeezed a little in an accusation.

Neil shrugged. "Didn't sleep much last night."

The blond gave him a look, and Neil knew Andrew had pieced together what exactly had kept him up. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"We had a game today." He cringed at his own reply; he knew Andrew had no real interest in whether the team won or lost.

"Yes, and how devastated I would have been if we were to lose."

"Sorry."

A silence settled over the two of them. Andrew contunied to study his face, and Neil stared back, blinking blearily. He could once again feel exhaustion creep in, tightening its hold on him and calling him to sleep.

One of Andrew's fingers played with a strand of hair next to his ear, while another ran a slow path over a scar on the right side of his face.

The calm in Neil broke, like a sudden smashed window in the house of his mind.

Maybe it was because of how tired he was, coupled with the nightmare of the previous night, that the question bubbling beneath his skin gained enough will to take shape, and even he was surprised when he voiced it.

"Do they bother you?"

Andrew's hand stilled, and his eyes flicked up to Neil's.

Neil felt himself freeze.

Neither of them had mentioned his scars before—from the moment he'd gotten them, Andrew had shown mild interest in them at best, categorizing them until they were all safely known in the vault of his mind, but he'd made no further comment other than his muted anger in Baltimore. Neil had taken that in stride and not acknowledged them around Andrew either, because that causal ignorance was what had caused Neil's attraction towards him in the first place; it had made him feel normal.

Andrew pulled his hand back, and Neil internally cursed at his idiot self for brining it up.

Andrew narrowed his eyes at him. "Take it up with Betsy if you're insecure. I will not act as your therapist."

Neil shrugged, embarrassed. "Sorry. I didnt mean it like that. I just—like, not even sometimes?"

Andrew stared at him for an endless minute. Neil looked back, willing the small pinpricks of shame not to show on his scarred face.

Idiot, he thought, you had to do this now?

The quiet between them continued to stretch, their breaths mingling. Silence was not a state foreign to them, but hardly was the lull surrounding them ever uncomfortable.

It was now, and Neil willed his heart to calm down. Andrew would not outright comfort him—that much was obvious. It was the most unlikely outcome of his question, and Neil would more likely willingly bash his head against a wall than to expect that. However, some part of him wished for Andrew not to completely shut it down either.

Andrew blinked slowly at him, and Neil stared back at him.

"Everything about you bothers me," Andrew finally muttered.

Neil ignored the dull ache in his chest at the response. It was, after all, as he had expected, but that did nothing to ease the throb of pain he felt.

"Okay." He slowly leaned forward, giving Andrew ample enough time to move away if he wished. When he didn't, Neil pressed a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth. "Goodnight."

He turned over in bed, and tried not to shiver when he felt Andrew's gaze still fixated on him, watching like a hawk from his position on the bed.

A couple minutes passed by, and when Neil was sure the conversation was over, Andrew's quiet voice filled the room.

"Do mine?"

Neil frowned and turned his head over to look at Andrew. In the stunted light of the moon, it was hard to make out his exact expression, but Neil had a feeling that even if it were bright, a carefully blank mask on Andrew's face would greet him.

"What?"

He saw Andrews eyebrow twitch. "Bother you. Do try to keep up, Neil."

Neil blinked at him in surprise: "No."

The prospect hadn't even crossed his mind.

Andrew gave a light nod. "Then stop being an idiot and go to sleep. You've looked half dead the entire day."

Despite the insult coating his words, warmth immediately spread through Neil's body. A knot loosened itself in his chest.

Of course.

This was Andrew—he had, in whatever way was known to him, always shown some sort of interest in Neil, no matter what he looked like; whether the colour of his eyes be brown like dirt or blue like frozen water, his hair black like night or auburn like sunrise. Even when he'd vaguely denied it at first after Baltimore, he'd stuck with Neil as if glued to him, and back then Neil had been covered with bruises and scars within an inch of his life.

So why would he care about them now?

Andrew's hand settled against his neck again, and Neil startled at how cold his fingers were.

"Shut up. It's hard to sleep with how loud your brain is when it goes into overdrive."

Neil failed to fight against the smile that overtook him. "You—"

"Did I not tell you to go to sleep?"

Neil shook his head. "Okay."

Okay.

There was no need to worry about these things when he was with Andrew, and there never would be. Maybe he would never truly be fine, but he could be okay, for as long as he was with him.

 

Notes:

Woo another fic done! I'd actually written this a while ago, but I wasn't able to post it because I *could not* find a suitable title. SRSLY, how do people come up with them😭

My personal struggles aside, I hope u guys like this:) feel free to make any comments or leave kudos! Thanks for reading💖