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Neil wakes up to a dull ache around his left shoulder, a familiar feeling when the winter months settle in, and he grunts. The bed beside him is cold and the blankets are neatly tucked back into the edge of the bed, no sign that someone had been there at all. King is curled near his feet, tucked under the blankets. When he shifts slightly, he can hear her start to purr as she presses up against his calf. Sir mews softly from his perch atop Andrew’s pillow and his eyes are narrowed as if daring him to move into his space. The wooden floor is cold when he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and he stretches with a groan. Sir grumbles quietly, but makes no effort to move from his spot, and Neil scratches at his head.
The main area of Andrew’s apartment is also empty, the only sound being the television playing one of the weather channels. Andrew’s blue sneakers are gone, as is his gear bag, and he’s left the coffee pot still running to keep it warm. Beside the pot, a bottle of pain pills and the crudely painted fox mug that Jean made Neil sits. It makes Neil’s lips quirk upwards as he pours himself a cup. The weather channel reports something about incoming snow and Neil scrunches his nose in disgust as he hovers in the arch between the kitchen and living room. They’re forecasting several feet of snow, a big blob of blue moving over the state for the next several days, and Neil spares a thought towards his flights. Canceled, probably, but he can’t bring himself to be upset about that. He simply shoots a picture of it to Wymack with nothing else, but he’s sure the man understands. Neil tosses the phone into the couch cushions and switches the channel to something more tolerable—flipping between reruns of Andrew’s recent game with the Denver Rapids and an older Chicago game. Neither keeps his attention for long, but they’re nice background noise.
A message comes through sometime during the second half of the Rapids’ rerun but Neil doesn’t bother digging his phone out from where it’s fallen between the cushions. Andrew would call if it was him, and everyone else knew that he’d respond whenever he got to it. Sir and King have emerged from the bedroom slowly, close enough together that it’s obvious they don’t like to be separate. They make themselves at home around the living room, King tucking herself into the blanket pile on the chair near the bookshelves and Sir sprawling on the coffee table without a care. Normally, they’d shoo him off, but Neil’s comfortable enough to not be bothered.
He dozes in and out for a while, not necessarily falling asleep, and he simply drifts for several hours. The game goes from the Rapids’ recent game to another team that Neil cares significantly less about, but it’s better than watching Chicago play a frankly poor excuse of a game. The chill in the apartment grows, even with the heater cranking, and Neil buries himself deeper into the knit blanket Dan had sent Andrew when he moved to Colorado. He’ll have to text her a photo later, to show her that Andrew hadn’t followed through on his threat to donate it the first time she had annoyed him. The next two hours pass slower and it’s near the end of the second game that Andrew ducks back into the apartment. His hood is up and covered in thick snowflakes. There’s a scowl on his face, irritation clear in the way his nose is scrunched up, but the effect is neutralized by the way his cheeks are a light pink from cold.
“You’re covered in snow.” Neil observes quietly and his voice feels slow, low and tired, as he sits upright on the couch. Sir has jumped down from the coffee table, weaving between Andrew’s legs as he toes off his shoes. Andrew grumbles under his breath, but he still leans down to scratch between Sir’s ears before shooing him off with a nudge to his side.
“Your ability to observe your surroundings never fails to amaze me.” Andrew gripes, shaking his hair out as he hangs the hoodie on the hood behind the door. The edges around his face are wet from where the snow has melted and Neil’s heart skips a beat in his chest. He’s aware that he’s staring but he can’t draw his eyes away as he watches Andrew stow away his gear. There’s something about watching the man in his own home, in a city far away from any bad memories, that makes Neil feel uniquely like he can breathe again. “Staring, junkie.”
“Your nail polish is chipped.” Neil points out as Andrew pulls off his wet gloves and the chips in the polish become clear. Andrew hovers for a moment, glancing down at them with a slight frown that anybody who wasn’t Neil would’ve missed, before schooling his face back into nothing. When he turns to look at Neil again, his eyebrows are furrowed together in what might be mistaken for annoyance. “How’s that for observation?”
“You are insufferable and I want you on the next flight out.” Andrew shoves past him and runs a hand through his own hair as he moves into the kitchen. At the sound of him opening the cabinet door, King raises her head from where she’s made herself comfortable and jumps down from the chair. She stretches before scurrying into the kitchen, likely winding herself between Andrew’s feet or jumping onto the counter to stare at him. It’s not a shock when the sound of the cat’s treat bag opening comes from the other room, followed swiftly by Sir and King darting towards the bedroom. Andrew pokes his head out to watch them, the closest to acknowledging his love for them that he’ll get, and turns an accusatory finger on Neil.
“They only use me for food because of you.” Andrew accuses and Neil can’t stop himself from snickering, stepping into Andrew’s space slowly enough that the other man could move if he wants. It’s become more and more common to not have to ask when it comes to being in each other’s space, pulled together like planets or stars that orbit one another, and Neil relishes in the trust every time he takes a moment to think on it. Andrew’s statement is false, but neither of them call him out on it, instead quietly taking each other in. Technically, Neil is supposed to be leaving later tonight for the airport to get back to Palmetto before the next semester starts. That was before the snowstorm was forecasted, but in the quiet of his mind, Neil is more than willing to admit that he would’ve found an excuse either way.
“Let me paint your nails for you.” Neil requests, intertwining their fingers together and pulling Andrew’s hands towards his eyes to look over the chips in the color. It was sometime in Andrew’s senior year that he started to paint them, a quiet challenge in response to one of their newest freshmen at the time who had sneered at Matt’s own nails. Andrew had picked the lock of their dorm and stolen the single vial of black nail polish that Matt owned, half used already, and showed up to practice the next day without his armbands so the only thing to focus on was his nails. Neil still vividly remembers the way that his heart had skipped in his chest when he watched Andrew check the netting of his racket that day, though he never admitted it. Not that Andrew had needed him to, if the consistent paint on his nails since was anything to go by.
“Your handwriting is barely legible on a good day, I would be an idiot to trust you with any kind of paint near my body.” Andrew rolls his eyes and slides past Neil without saying more. He picks up the remote from where it’s fallen between cushions on the couch, followed by Neil’s phone which he holds up with an annoyed air. Neil pockets it sheepishly, leaning forward against the back side of the couch as Andrew flips the channel back to the news. The chances of snow have only seemed to grow since the last time Neil looked and the storm is already over top, without any reprieve in sight. He shouldn’t feel as happy about that fact as he is. “Hmm, you’re not flying back to Palmetto tonight.”
“No.” Neil agrees, jumping over the backside of the couch to flop onto the cushion beside Andrew and grins when the man scowls. “My flight was canceled while you were at practice.”
“Irritating.” Andrew scowls, turning his nose up in faux disgust, but they can both tell he’s lying. There’s a softened edge to his eyes and his shoulders are still too relaxed for him to have any real irritation in his bones. It took Neil years to realize how easy it was for him to read Andrew and he would do it any chance he got now, content to watch the man’s emotions play out over his entire body instead of his face alone.
“You don’t look annoyed.” Neil points out softly, reaching out to hover a hand over Andrew’s hip and waits for a response. Andrew allows it with a nod, letting Neil press cold fingers into his skin and pull him closer. Neil’s soft when he asks, “Heard they canceled the game tomorrow. Guess you’re stuck with me for even longer.”
“How terrible.” Andrew gripes, but he tilts forward ever so slightly as if seeking the warmth from Neil and adds, “The NEL claims that the game would be too dangerous. How sad, I don’t get to play stickball tomorrow.”
“Kevin will be disappointed.” Neil sways closer, dropping his forehead to Andrew’s shoulder and lets his head fall forward onto Andrew’s shoulder. He’s sweaty, still, from morning training but Neil doesn’t care. He relishes in the feeling of Andrew’s hand sliding under his shirt, deft fingers pressing into the scars hidden under the fabric, and grins against the other man’s shoulder.
“Allow me to repeat: how sad.” Andrew drawls without emotion, but Neil can hear something more in his tone. He doesn’t dare point it out, just takes a half step away and shoves lightly at his side.
“Try to sound less disappointed next time. Go take a shower.” Neil laughs, unable to stop himself from the sound bubbling over, and his chest feels loose as he kicks his legs up onto the other side of the couch. He ends up sprawled out on the cushions, staring unseeingly at the television as if he has any interest in watching the same blue blob cross the map more than once. Instead, he focuses the rest of his mind on the way that Andrew moves through the house and hears him hesitate at the hallway leading to their bedrooms. Neil meets his eyes without shame and watches Andrew’s face do a complicated thing, before the left side of his lip quirks up just as he turns around.