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Aaron’s trial is in Columbia, so they decide it’s best to keep things local and stay at the house the night before.
It’s quiet when they arrive; late, because Kevin had insisted practice continue until they all nailed one of his random, pointless Raven drills. Maybe he’s coping. Aaron can’t imagine why he’d need to. Realistically, in order of being most traumatized by the entire Drake situation, it goes: Andrew, Aaron, Neil. Everyone else can be classified as a bystander, in Aaron’s eyes.
Aaron is numb while he gets ready for bed. He’s on autopilot. Piss, brush his teeth, think about how he could be in prison for life after tomorrow. His attorney assured him that wouldn’t be the case, of course. It’s open and shut. A classic case of self-defense, so long as Neil testifies and they bring Andrew’s rape kit as evidence. But if that’s really all they needed, several days-worth of a trial would be redundant. Why the fuck do they need to go through all this bullshit, anyway?
After he’s finished in the bathroom, Aaron starts towards his room. But something catches his eye; Neil and Andrew’s bedroom door is cracked. Andrew never cracks his door, which means he’s not in the room, which means he’s probably smoking on the deck.
Aaron bites his lip. He should just go to bed. He should forget about it. Andrew probably isn't going to sleep tonight. Aaron has to prepare to hear a detailed retelling of his twin’s violent sexual abuse. Andrew probably wants to be left alone.
Aaron goes downstairs.
He finds Andrew leaning over the railing of the back deck, bathed in the soft yellow glow emanating from the porch light. One of the bulbs is out. Aaron can see dead moths collected within the light casing.
Andrew shows no sign of hearing Aaron’s approach, so Aaron is sure to close the screen door with enough force that he causes it to squeak. Still, Andrew doesn’t react. Smoke tendrils curl up to the night sky, fingers unmoving.
“Hey,” Aaron tries to greet. It’s awkward and uncomfortable but he slides next to Andrew and positions himself in a similar fashion.
Andrew says nothing. He stares out into the darkened backyard. His next drag is the only indication that he’s alive and not a statue.
It’s silent. Aaron almost starts to enjoy it, actually, but all good things must come to an end. Aaron is busy picking at the rotted wood of the railing when Andrew finally speaks.
“Why did you kill Drake?”
Aaron blinks at him. “Huh?”
Andrew gestures to tell Aaron he shouldn’t have to repeat himself.
“He…he was hurting you,” Aaron says slowly. “I knew I had to stop him and that he was bigger than all three of us combined.”
Andrew ashes his cigarette. “That’s it?”
Something cold settles in Aaron’s stomach. He suddenly wishes he had stayed inside.
“Why the fuck else? I didn’t even really mean to kill him. I just hit him as hard as I could.”
Andrew is quiet, but this is a silence with which Aaron isn’t familiar. It’s not Andrew’s usual, cool exterior, laden with ice and boredom. Andrew’s fingers are shaking just slightly as he holds his cigarette, and his breathing is shallower. His jaw is clenched. Maybe the only reason Aaron even notices is because he knows what his own body looks like when he’s nervous.
“You told Neil I was an easy lay.”
Aaron’s stomach drops as he remembers. He had been so angry that Neil had yet another thing with Andrew that Aaron would never understand. Nicky had called it hate sex, and Aaron wasn’t about to let Neil use his brother like that. Not after what Andrew’s been through. The idea of Andrew experiencing any sort of intimacy remotely casually feels oddly like betrayal.
“Come the fuck on.” Aaron wants to sound indignant but it comes out broken. “Andrew. I didn’t—”
“What?” Andrew spits with rarely-heard venom.
“I was trying to get to him. I knew it would piss him off, I just wanted to see how bad.”
Andrew shakes his head and takes a drag. “So, you don’t plan on using gay panic as a defense tomorrow.”
The world tilts a little on its axis as he takes a step back, like that will lessen the sting.
“Fuck you,” Aaron breathes. “Fuck you, Andrew, you know that’s not what I meant.”
“Isn’t it? We both know you don’t exactly support me sucking dick.”
“He raped you.” Aaron exhales shakily, the cold chill from the deceptively gentle breeze wracking him to his core. “Don’t you think—if I felt like Neil was like Drake, do you seriously think I’d let him date you?”
Andrew stubs the cigarette out on the wooden deck rail, despite it only being half-burned. Without hesitation, he shakes another from the pack and lights it, his actions almost violent. “You’re not letting me do anything. You look at me like you’ve never been more disgusted by anything in your life.”
“You’re seriously fucking delusional if you think for a second—”
“He notices, you know.” Andrew turns to him so they’re face-to-face, eye-to-eye. “Neil. He can tell you hate us together. He thinks he’s coming between us because you can’t contain yourself. And me, sure, whatever. You can call me a fag and turn up your nose and burn a rainbow flag for all I give a fuck. But he hates himself enough already, and I will not let you add to it.”
Aaron has to turn away, his eyes burning. He’s not that much of a dick. Nicky handles it just fine. But Nicky approaches his relationships like he actually enjoys them, and isn’t holding his nose the entire time. All he can see when he looks at Neil is someone who spends his time convincing other men to accept something that isn’t there.
When Aaron met Andrew, his brother had already worked his way through sexuality, and maybe Aaron could have helped. Maybe Andrew wouldn’t be so fucked up about relationships if he tried not dating the gender that hurt him to hell and back.
“How do you know.”
He can tell Andrew’s expression is entirely impassive without having to turn around just because of the timbre of his voice. Andrew asks, “Know what?”
“That you’re gay.” Aaron turns back, confident that he won’t start crying. “How could you possibly know that, with what you’ve been through?”
Andrew’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “Are you being serious?”
“This wouldn’t be a fucking problem if you just dated women, Andrew. You wouldn’t have to go through all this bullshit with hating yourself and hating sex if you just stopped being with Neil. With guys.”
“That’s fucking low.” Andrew’s eyes are hard. Disgusted. “I knew you were a bigot about this shit, but damn, that is impressively low.”
“I’m not a fucking bigot, Andrew! I don’t give a fuck about Nicky or Neil. If they want to be gay, whatever, they’re grown ass men. But it’s also pretty clear that they actually enjoy it. Do you know how you look, from the outside in? Do you think the others don’t notice how you hardly even touch him when we’re out together?”
“And yet, none of them have tried to tell me I’m too damaged to know if I like men or not.”
“Because they’re fucking scared of you, and I’m not. This is supposed to be the guy you’d tear down the world to find, and you won’t even hold his hand.”
Andrew never hints at his emotions on his face, but right now, he’s the definition of shame and fear. Eyebrows drawn together, leaning away, showing body language he wouldn’t show anyone else.
“Do you even love him?” Aaron asks quietly, almost a whisper.
The silence stretches, and Andrew’s expression slowly relaxes back into something bored. He’s shuttering himself away, like always, and Aaron thinks he has his answer until Andrew says—
“I can’t love anyone. But I can get close enough. And Neil is the closest it gets.”
Can’t love anyone. “You know that’s horseshit, right?”
“I’m not—” Andrew stops. Swallows. Starts again. “I’m not his solution. One day, he’s going to find someone who actually deserves him. I know that. And I know I’m being selfish. But he’s the only one who actually listens to me and he gives a shit when I tell him no.”
“He won’t look for someone else if you ask him not to, Andrew.”
“Whether he looks or not isn’t my concern.”
“If you got your head out of your ass for once and recognized that Neil practically drools over you, maybe this wouldn’t be so fucking angsty. I know he loves you. So, tell him. I guarantee he won’t take your I can’t love bullshit at face value.”
Andrew’s stare goes dark. “We’re not like you. I’m not like you.”
“What? Straight?” Aaron scoffs. “No shit.”
“It’s different for me,” Andrew hisses. “Someone like you can’t begin to understand that.”
“You don’t think we’re both damaged? You don’t think I might have some problems finding a healthy fucking relationship? Give me a fucking break, Andrew. I know you’re melodramatic for your image, but Jesus Christ.”
Andrew actually shoves him. Aaron stumbles backwards, barely regaining his footing.
“How do you think this is going to go over?” Andrew is trying to school his expression, but it’s not working as well as he probably hopes. “I’m about to tell—to national fucking television, and then what? Neil and I get caught kissing somewhere? Someone takes a picture? What do you think the entire sports world is going to say about that?
“Neil has to go pro. I can’t fuck with his career. I can’t get in the way. So, no, I don’t get to hold his hand or love him because I can’t. I could kill him. Do you get that? Can you even comprehend that the wrong touch in public could have the Moriyamas deciding he’s useless to them?”
Aaron’s stomach hurts. It makes so much sense when Andrew puts it like that, doesn’t it? “But in front of our friends…you don’t have to hide. Most of them still think you’re hatefucking.”
“I do not care what they think.”
Not if it keeps Neil alive.
But that goes unsaid.
Aaron breathes deep. The outside air is getting cold enough to burn his lungs.
“I told you before,” Aaron starts. “I don’t care if you’re gay. I don’t care if you want Neil. I just want to know that whatever I hear from you tomorrow is something we can heal.”
Andrew stares. “We.”
“I’m not letting you do it alone,” Aaron tells him. “Whatever it is. Maybe I don’t…get it. But I won’t let my brother get hurt again. I’m standing on trial for murder to make sure you aren’t hurt.”
There’s a disconnect. Aaron looks at Andrew and sees someone damaged, but not beyond repair, because that would mean Aaron is unfixable, too. Maybe if they grew up together, side-by-side in foster care, it would be different. Aaron would have seen it. He could have stopped it. He could have watched Andrew—
“Who was first?” he blurts. When Andrew just raises a brow, he says, “The first boy you liked. Who was it?”
Andrew appraises Aaron like he’s trying to pass a lie detector test. His cigarette has long since extinguished, so he busies himself with relighting it. Aaron almost thinks he’s going to stay quiet, but then Andrew says, “In juvie. His name was Taylor.”
The breath is ripped from Aaron’s lungs and he nearly loses his balance. He turns to lean over the railing, not entirely sure if he’s going to be sick.
“It can’t be that revolting to hear.”
“No, I just…” Aaron laughs breathlessly. “That was the name of my first crush. Taylor Paige Crawson. Second grade.”
Andrew predictably doesn’t react. “He didn’t keep his hands to himself, so I broke his nose.”
“Good,” Aaron says. “Y’know, in a not-gay bashing kind of way.”
“Thank you for clarifying. I’ll alert PFLAG.”
“How’d you know you liked Josten?”
Aaron wants to hear him admit it, really. In the quiet of the night, hours before their second worst day imaginable, with no one else around, Aaron wants to know it’s real. That it’s worth it. That Neil is worth it. Andrew ashes his cigarette and stares at the lawn below.
“He said—” Andrew cuts himself off and takes another drag. “When he noticed I was the one who picked him up from the airport.”
“When he knew it wasn’t me.”
“Since you and I met,” Andrew says, “no one else has gotten it right. He saw right through me.”
Something clicks. Aaron says, “He saw you.”
He thinks he sees Andrew nod, but he can’t be sure. Aaron stares up at the sky; he sees the Pleiades, clustered and dim in the suburban nightscape. The barely-there pinpricks of Orion chase the seven stars across the dark, and Aaron wonders whether Andrew is the hunter or the hunted.
“I will get you out of this,” Andrew promises.
“You don’t need to make a deal with me.”
“It’s not a deal. I never made a deal with Nicky and I won’t make another one with you. I don’t care what it costs me or how far it sets me back. They cannot have you.”
“Likewise,” Aaron nearly whispers. “I’d do it again.”
“You’re an idiot.”
Aaron can’t help but smile. He takes it as the dismissal it is and shoots Andrew a classic, two-fingered salute. “Night, Andrew.”
He doesn’t stick around to wait for a reply, but Aaron is at the top of the stairs when he hears the backdoor close, and it’s enough.