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The first picture Neil takes with his own camera is predictably, perhaps, of the Foxhole Court.
It happens during an after-practice debrief in the lounge. Dan is hiding something small between herself and Matt on the couch, tucked against her hip. She keeps shooting furtive glances at Wymack as he wraps up his comments about today's practice. Neil scans the room—none of his teammates look tense, but Nicky is fighting back a barely concealed grin and Renee's serene smile holds an extra sparkle. As Wymack finishes, he gives Dan a wry look and gestures for her to take the stage.
“All yours, Captain.”
She springs up, hiding the item behind her back. "As you all know, today is a special day." Neil scans his internal calendar, brow furrowed. They don't have a game until next week, and he doesn't think it's a holiday.
But if he’s learned anything in his time with the Foxes, it’s to expect the unexpected.
"Happy birthday, Neil!" She steps forward to hand him a small gift bag. "It's from all of us." He doesn't reach for the gift, and when he catches Dan's expression, he knows his face has betrayed his disbelief. His jaw doesn’t drop open, but it’s a near thing. Birthdays had never been a big cause for celebration in the past. Another year lived was another year survived, against all odds. Before coming to Palmetto, birthdays didn’t matter because he was running out an hourglass with borrowed time. Running, running, running—and then eventually, time slowed down. Life became something he got to live day by day and not run from. He’s still getting used to it.
Her face softens, and she reaches out to gently ruffle his hair. "Did you think we forgot?"
Neil swallows and glances around the room. He sees Matt's broad grin, Allison's arched eyebrow, the impatient tap of Aaron's foot as he waits for Neil to get on with it, and Kevin's nod in Dan's direction—a shade less bossy than usual. Lastly, he shoots a look at Andrew. To the outside observer, Andrew looks as bored as usual. Only Neil can see the calm strength of his gaze, can decode the messages hidden in the depths of hazel. You are allowed to have this—not in permission, but in affirmation of what Neil has fought tooth and nail to accept over time.
As Neil takes the bag and peels back the wrapping paper, he swallows. Inside is a camera, a chunky thing identical to the one he's seen Dan sneak out at practices, the one that became fair game for the whole team. He looks over at their wall of haphazardly spread photos, and his chest fills with a warmth like the blaze of a hearth, settling the piece that rattles loose within him. He knows that piece will always be there. He is his mother's son, after all. He still hears her voice reminding him to only carry what you need with you.
He thinks about his overflowing duffle bag. The keys next to charms on a ring that go with him everywhere. A cell phone with forty-three unread text messages from six group chats that are just various combinations of the Foxes and are unnecessary because they see each other every day and live a room or two away.
Neil thinks about what it means to need, and understands that there are now two types in his mind: a need born out of survival and a need built over time, one of wanting and wanting and wanting something and finally allowing himself to have it until it feels unimaginable to be without it.
“Thank you.”
He says it softly, his gaze lowered from the team. His voice lacks the fire he reserves for mouthy opponents or reporters that are too nosy for their own good. It’s all raw sincerity, one shared with family.
As the team filters out with warm chatter (and a pinch of the cheek from Allison as she coos you’ll always be our baby that causes Neil to flush slightly, shy but pleased), he finds himself alone with Andrew. He doesn’t realize that he’s been turning the camera over in his hands, inspecting every inch in wonder.
“A man…” Andrew begins with a sigh.
“’Can only have so many issues,’” Neil parrots back with a infinitesimal smile. “I know.”
Arms crossed, Andrew leans against the nearest wall and looks at Neil expectantly.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
Rolling his eyes, Andrew explains. “Get a picture of the stupid court so we can leave already, Junkie.”
Andrew doesn’t move to follow him, but Neil knows he will be there when he returns. As he makes his way to the court he takes a fleeting second to marvel at how once again, Andrew proves he knows him better than he knows himself.
It doesn’t take long for Neil to get a good shot—he jogs to the top of the bleachers where he can get the best view of the Foxhole Court. He fiddles with the camera for a bit before squinting into the viewfinder and pressing down.
Click.
The camera begins to whirr as it churns the photo out. He holds it gingerly and can’t tear his eyes away as he makes his way back to Andrew, feet on autopilot.
It’s just a picture. He knows. It’s not a need. But at some point throughout his time with the Foxes, Neil allowed himself to want and stopped smothering the flame. He wants to remember the little things. A fire burning bright within him. The roar of the crowd and the anticipatory adrenaline of a game. The Foxes, clad in unrelenting orange. That he stood among them all, living, breathing, and thought for the first time in his life, this is where I belong.
“Did you get what you wanted?” Andrew asks. His tone is exasperated but the fondness in his hazel eyes and the way he leisurely makes his way over to Neil’s side is hard to ignore. Neil feels the corners of his mouth slide into an easy smile. Andrew knocks their hands together and at Neil’s responding nudge in assent, twines their hands together as they leave.
Neil thinks about the warmth between their hands. He thinks about promises and shared cigarettes and kisses on rooftops and moments he has begun to keep close, memories folded into a locket and tucked near his heart.
He has never been a sentimental person. But maybe for once, he can admit he deserves to be.