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One day, in the dead of the night, Neil wakes up to Andrew saying his name. It's soft and quiet, not rushed or urgent, but Neil is a light sleeper and hearing his name out of Andrew's mouth is enough to pull him out of the deepest sleep.
He sniffles and sighs, stretches slightly as he turns, still half asleep when he asks, “What's up?” his voice thick and muffled and clear.
There's silence for a moment before Andrew is pulling at him, gentle but insistent, and Neil is pliable for Andrew, always yes for him, especially in the night like this when everything has a heavier weight to it, a soft urgency, everything more important for reasons that sometimes don't make sense in the busier hours of the day.
Neil ends up on his back with Andrew laying on him, Andrew's ear to his chest, and neither of them say anything though neither of them sleep for a long time.
After a while, Neil threads his fingers through Andrew's hair. Andrew growls softly but Neil doesn't stop and Andrew quiets after a few seconds, maybe enjoying the way Neil's fingertips scratch delicately over his scalp, maybe annoyed at the way the growl echoes through Neil's chest. Neil blinks into the dark room, pondering sleep, wondering and not wondering what was on Andrew's mind.
It doesn't take long but it feels like a long time before Neil drifts off. Old habits being what they were, he knew how to sleep staying perfectly still while someone he loved clutched at him just to reassure themselves that he was still there, still safe, still alive.
Andrew is still awake when his eyes open next.
The next day is soft and quiet but not uncomfortably so. At some point, Andrew approaches him, grips him with a hand on his chest and backs him into their bedroom. Pushes him onto the bed, divests him of his clothes. It's different than normal. They don't rush sex, haven't ever had rough sex, not yet and maybe not ever, so the slowness, the gentleness isn't truly different or unexpected. But there's something, some fizz around the edges of every touch, every kiss, every exhalation that has them both panting and breathing deep.
They're not big on words, never have been. They don't make declarations of love or pant dirty words into each other's mouths and ears. But the kisses are hungry and desperate and fulfilling.
And at one point, Andrew says softly, “I hate you so much.”
For the first time, Neil realizes and understands everything Andrew is saying with those five words, not because he didn't know it before but because for some reason the words never truly clicked for him.
And he whispers it back, “I hate you, too,” soft and heavy and punctuated with a kiss.
He doesn't miss the shudder that wracks Andrew's body but doesn't bring attention to it either.