Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You know, we could really upgrade your wardrobe again, give you more to wear than that dreadful black Andrew likes to put you in and cringey fox-branded orange you buy everything in, nowadays. I know you like it, but it really clashes dreadfully with your hair.”

While Nicky is busy soliloquizing, about clothes of all things, Neil does his best to ignore him in favor of focusing on his stretches, slowly putting everything back in place and testing his range of movements, but without going overboard, before going at it again and giving it his all. They are in the lounge for a mid-practice close-to-a-break-but-not-really breather from the intense drills and scrimmages they are doing, staying warmed-up and drinking their fill. In less than a week, they will face the Jackals and their aggressive playstyle, and they need to be ready.

“All I’m saying is, with hair and eyes like yours ― don’t look at me like that, you know you’re a vision, cutie ― with eyes like yours you could really pull off some more vibrant colors. I’ve got half a mind to dress you as a rainbow to see what sticks, you know. Oh! Now that’s an idea: rainbows! Now that you’re gay and all, maybe you could ―”

“I'm not gay.”

A strange and uneasy silence falls heavy on those close by in a real-life record scratch moment. Foxes exchange furtive glances between each other, stopped in their tracks in whatever stretch they were in, which Neil can’t help but notice when the easy murmurs of conversations closest to him stop. Fortunately, the freshmen seem too far away to eavesdrop. Matt and Dan seem to be communicating intensely with just their eyes, or maybe by telepathic couple powers. Andrew pretends to carry on like nothing happened, but Neil saw him falter for a brief second out of the corner of his eyes. His perpetual unbothered gaze is strongly in place and fixed on what he’s doing when Neil tries to catch his gaze, though.

If he were to put money on it, which he won’t because the Foxes betting keeps getting out of hand and needs no further encouragement from him, he would wager that Kevin is the only one who is truly unperturbed by the declaration. He might not even have heard, even though he’s only a couple feet away. He gets like that sometimes, entirely on task and imperturbable, focused, in his lane. As long as his lane is exy. Non-exy related talk is just background noise behind what Neil is sure is Kevin’s inner voice babbling about strategy and proper stretching methods. Maybe hydration. But surely nothing like his teammates’ sexual inclinations.

Sometimes, Kevin’s obsessive nature and one-track mind make for a nice reprieve from all the nosiness around. Neil knows he can count on Kevin to be at the top of his game against the Jackals, no matter the gossip of the day.

“Well,” Nicky starts slowly, like he’s walking in the dark and there are hidden snake pits in the vicinity. “I hate to break it to you kid, but if it quacks like a duck and looks like a duck…”

“That bet is closed, you can't reopen it.” Allison interjects with murder in her eyes in Neil’s direction.

Fucking betting, worming its way into everything like sand at the beach. He had guessed there were still bets being made about him, but the confirmation still scratches at him like it’s made of sandpaper.

“That's not how that works, Neil can be what he wants.” Neil likes that about Dan, she doesn’t push where she isn’t welcome. It’s part of what makes her a great captain. “Besides, yes we can.” Or maybe not. She’s still a Fox after all.

Neil suddenly has the sneaking suspicion that her stance is less about defending his privacy and more about simmering soreness from losing a ― probably ― long lasting bet. They tend to wring one’s wallet more.

Before anyone butts in again, Neil tries to close the door on the conversation. He’s already done with the whole thing.

“I never said I was gay. I told you before: I don't swing.” And that’s that, he thinks. He’s telling the truth, after all. They should appreciate it, it’s rare enough he gives it unobfuscated, even now. But mostly, they should get back to what matters. Wymack is probably close to calling them back in.

From the corner of his eyes, Andrew’s shoulders tense just a tiny bit. It’s probably unnoticeable to anyone else, from his spot on the edge of the group, but Neil has become very adept in noticing every little change in Andrew’s body language. He tries again to catch his gaze, this time to read the reason for the crispation in it, but Andrew is still pretending to be unaffected by what is happening around him and looking straight ahead, away from Neil.

Looking around for a clue, Neil stumbles upon identical hazel eyes sending waves of fresh disgust towards him. Aaron. Not losing a second, Neil sends the sentiment right back, glaring with intent. The lesser twin looks like he holds Neil responsible for being subjected to hearing about alternative sexuality, compounding to his usual dislike of Neil. Like it’s his fault that Nicky can’t talk about literally anything else.

In the background, he can hear Dan and Allison bicker about bet etiquette. They aren’t nasty to each other, but their words have a crisp quality to them indicating they are building towards an argument.

As always when tension starts to rise, Renee intervenes. “It’s insensitive of us to pry into Neil’s private life like that.” The sweetness of her gentle chiding makes him bristle, the sugar cubes sticky and unwelcomed on his skin. He knows she’s genuine, but he won’t be able to bring himself to thank her for her intervention. It’s too much. He’s still uneasy around her, her peaceful demeanor feeling too close to a lure intended to hide her hard eyes’ true intent.

She then turns to address him and adds in a soft reassuring smile: “You don't have to tell us anything you don't want to, Neil.”

“Of course he does, I want to know,” cuts Allison while she launches her sharp gaze on him, eyes like a drill intent on excavating his deepest secrets.

“No one cares,” says Aaron in a bored tone, pointedly ignoring them. Kevin, Aaron and himself are the only ones still bothering to stretch, apart from the freshmen being too far to catch the conversation. And these last ones are doing a poor job at it, from what he can see. Next to the girls, Matt hovers awkwardly on one leg, his other calf in his hand behind him, exercise forgotten. Running is going to be a bitch if he overextends his tendons like that. He could strain something.

Neil opens his mouth to tell him to mind his leg, but Matt speaks first when he feels his attention on him.

“You know it doesn't bother us, you and Andrew, yeah? We're cool with it.”

Aaron frowns in the background.

Neil looks up at Matt, confused. Where is this coming from?

“I know that.” They’ve kept it to themselves, neither of them being a fan of PDA ― be it in actions or words, but after Baltimore last year he has no doubt that the group knows about the “not nothing” between him and their goalie. Since no one bothered to make a comment, he assumed they didn’t care.

Not like their uninvited opinion would hold any sway over this thing exclusively “theirs”.

Matt’s smile comes up like the sun from behind clouds, a bright and shiny thing that Neil can’t explain. He gives a small smile in returns, because it’s always a safe bet with Matt.

“That’s what I’m talking about! There’s nothing like gay love to bring everyone together!” Nicky cries out, clapping a hand on Matt and Dan’s shoulders. Matt doesn’t even waver under the push, even though he’s still giving his best impression of a flamingo. The man is an unmoveable rock. That’s what makes him such an effective backliner, he thinks, taking in his friend’s imposing frame. Neil’s sure he could go pro if he wished. In a year, he’s going to start receiving offers. Maybe they could end up in the same team, when it’s his turn to get recruited.

Nicky’s happy and proud grin turns lascivious then, and he cocks his hip suggestively, one eyebrow going up when Neil does not answer, lost in his thoughts. Neil blinks at him.

“I'm still not gay, Nicky.”

Nicky’s features wavers for a moment, but then Wymack materialises next to them and Neil perks up.

“Pause is over, get your lazy asses back out there.”

Neil grabs his racket and finds himself shoulder to shoulder with Kevin on the way to the court as the others slowly follow suit behind them.

Last to cross the threshold of the court is Allison, still looking frustrated, with Renee coaxing her into being a good sport while Dan is talking over her trying to make a point.

Neil doesn’t notice, focused on Kevin as the other boy tells him and the new striker sub all about this new drill he wants them to try. Neil nods enthusiastically, all non exy thoughts already forgotten.

~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~

Athletes are on a strict regimen of exercise to keep their form, and so next morning finds them all assembled again in the gym.

Neil is focused on his breathing as he lifts the bar over his head in a practiced rhythm, going slowly to allow the muscles to feel the ache. Matt’s hands hover near the bar dutifully, never touching it but primed to intervene, butterflies ready to turn to steel.

Not everyone is taking gym time seriously though, as Neil can see Nicky approaching out of the corner of his eyes. The cousin is always trying to get out of doing any more than is strictly necessary to ― in his own words ― “keep a bangable physique and a tight ass”. Neil tries to delay the incoming distraction by opting to ignore him for as long as he can.

“So, let’s circle back to your refusal to acknowledge your homosexuality...”

Neil can’t help but flick him a look, resolve be damned. His marketing classes aren’t doing his speech patterns any favors.

“Listen, I know the label is heavy, but I'm sure you're strong enough” he interrupts himself to look over the plates on his left side, distracted in his train of thoughts by what he himself is saying. “170 lbs? Jeez Neil, long gone are your twigs days. Next you're gonna outbench Allison. She's deceptively strong for her shape and her boobs-having gender, you know. Of course you know. She brags about it constantly, the bitch.”

Neil shoots him an unimpressed look and catches sight of Matt doing his best rendition of a blank face. It wouldn’t fool anyone. Still, he guesses it shows improvement compared to when they first met.

Matt’s terrible camouflage apparently works on Nicky, though, who picks his line of thoughts back up.

“What I mean is, I know the grief people sometimes give you once you're out and proud but… fuck them. Isn't it better to know oneself?”

“What’s better is when other people are not butting their noses in what is not their business.” Tiredly, he adds “Go away Nicky.”

He finishes the last rep on his set and Matt grabs the bar to help him put it back on the rack before handing him a towel, which Neil takes gratefully to pat his face with. Nicky is unfortunately hovering right over him, still talking like he hadn’t heard Neil.

“There's nothing wrong with having an appreciation for the male form. It is all large backs, tall frames, strong and capable hands, warm callouses and pert asses…” he seems lost in his imagination for a beat, before remembering where he was going with this. “What's not to like?” It is a tad too breathy for a casual conversation.

“Yeah” Dan’s voice answers from right behind him. “I know what you mean.” Tossing his towel on the side, Neil throws her a look, unsure if she came to save him from the conversation or doom him to it. She carries on.

“On the other hand though, women are all voluptuous curves, soft skin on plump breasts and tender bellies.” Doom it is, apparently. Traitors, the lot of them. And undisciplined ones at that.

But Dan is still going and the more she talks, the more suggestive she makes her tone, stretching the syllables before letting them go. “Smoky eyes and red lips, small hands with sharp nails…”

She drapes herself over Matt’s side while saying the last bit, her hands coming to rest on his front seemingly to demonstrate exactly what said hands could do to a man. Matt's smile is blinding while he looks down at her, just like a sunflower turns towards his sun.

He also cheekily raises a brow, as if interested in hearing more.

She shrugs. “We sometimes used to do routine two at a times and pretended to make out with each other to get more ‘customers engagement’. You can’t help but learn a few things. Nothing like hands on experience, as they say.” She adds, wiggling her fingers.

Nicky pulls a face at the sapphic picture and looks like he’s winding up to argue for his team.

“I do not care either way,” cuts Neil. He has to try and shut this down now, even though he knows his chances are slim, because if they get into a rhythm they will never stop. “Now move, I need to train if we stand a chance to beat the Jackals next Friday. Or did you all just forget?” The Breckenridge’s team is a fierce one, their biggest rival. And they are at the gym for fuck’s sake. He’s literally on his back, still straddling the weight bench.

“You're as obsessed as Kevin. But even he has Thea!” Nicky exclaims. “Though, between us, seen as she's built, he might as well be repressing something.”

“Just because you're intimidated by strong women doesn't mean everyone is. Isn't that right?” coos Dan into Matt’s shoulder. In response, still smiling, he pushes his head lower to kiss her tenderly, all lips and no tongue.

Neil comes to a conclusion right then and there. Just because they won’t leave him alone doesn’t mean he can’t leave them behind.

“Move,” he says to Nicky who’s still crowding him and cutting his path to a strategic retreat. He picks up his dirty towel and swats him with it to make him move faster and ignores the indignant yelps he receives until he can push him out of his way.

He starts to the next row of machines and begins to set one up with the right amount of weight for Matt to do his legs press on. There’s some movement behind him while the small group opts to drift towards him instead of staying put. Or, God forbid, resume their workout. He tries to smother the flicker of annoyance towards his friends at that.

As he is setting up his own machine right next to Matt’s, he hears a dejected “Who the fuck doesn’t wipe his bench? You’re fucking disgusting, Josten, you know that?” from Aaron, overdramatic as ever. If the boy can’t handle a little sweat, he should not have become an athlete.

Neil looks Matt in the eyes and points at the first machine authoritatively. Matt sits obediently, with mirth in his eyes and a mocking military salute to his vice-captain. He thinks he’s hilarious. He refuses to let the joke die, even though it’s been months now. Sometimes, he thinks Matt might be happier than he is about his nomination, like having his best people watching over them all is a gift to him specifically. It might be because “happy” is still a complicated emotion for him, some days, the word too close to carefree for someone like him. He ignores Matt’s antics and gets in position on his own machine after finishing his last adjustment.

“Okay, okay,” says Nicky, undeterred by his try at an escape. “But like, settle this for me. You’ve got eyes, yeah?” In response, Neil rolls said eyes like one raises a hand at roll call to be marked present.

“Don’t hurt yourself. But seriously! We are surrounded by juicy and beautiful people, up close and personal with our fellow athletes. It should be a crime to pass on the opportunity to look around.” To demonstrate his point, he leans in to ogle in an over the top way at Matt’s shirtless form.

Matt’s eyes are laughing, crinkling at the corners, his mouth twitching. He doesn't mind the compliment or Nicky’s dramatics. He even puffs his muscles a little just for show. He laughs when Nicky’s stare gets caught in one of the ripples on his abdomen and pretends to swoon. After a minute of that though, he tells him to go bother someone else, because he can sense Neil’s slow mounting irritation.

Dan adds "Back off, Nicky," in a playful tone. "This one is mine," before putting herself between the two and interrupting the show.

Nicky sighs dramatically at the loss.

“Can't. The other ones present are my little cousins, and that's a line even I won't cross. I also value my life and don't wish to be stabbed.” He sends a meaningful look Neil’s way before promptly looking away, like burned. Neil feels his narrowed eyes are less responsible for it than a vivid memory of being held at knife point by Andrew after letting his eyes wander a little too long on Neil that one time he got back from his run early because of a sudden rain shower had left him sopping wet.

Words were exchanged. Tears were wept. Still, no blood was shed. Andrew was getting better at managing his impulses since he was off his medication.

All in all, a satisfactory conclusion. Nicky was more manageable since. He’d gone back to playful pretend-flirting, which didn’t bother Neil. He could just ignore it. He also half believed it was Nicky’s way of showing affection.

“The only pretty one left is Kevin ― because let’s face it, our freshmen are duds ― and even his muscle definition is not enough to make me forget his foul-smelling personality.”

Like these words were a magic spell, the little gathering around Neil all turn their eyes to Kevin on his machine a little way over, pulling weights with his arms and making the muscles on them and his straight back be redrawn on every pull, visible through his tight and breathable shirt. They look for a moment, hypnotised. Neil looks at them instead, unimpressed by their vacant expressions.

“Also, he throws hissy fits when I look too long. I’m sorry Matt, you're stuck with me as your number 2 fan. Right after Dan, of course,” he says while batting his eyelashes at Matt.

Matt laughs again softly. “I don't mind. I'm used to it after all the ogling the girls did when I was squatting in their dorm my first year.”

Upon seeing Dan trying for a retort he cuts her, fondly mocking. “You weren't that subtle, you know. You would always all mysteriously gather on the couch right as I was getting out of the shower.”

A lesser woman would have blushed. Dan just smirked, unashamed of the eyefuls she and her dormmates had managed to score.

“It was not like you were shy, getting out with just a towel most of the time.”

“Because I knew you were watching.” There is a simmering heat hiding just below these words, almost like they have forgotten they are in public. Which is a real shame, in Neil’s opinion. Not because he cares for propriety, but because he’s right there.

“I wish I had been a fly on the wall, then. You are one fine specimen,” Nicky says wistfully. His target sends both a charming and mocking smile his way, but his attention is all on Dan who appears as if she’s buoyed by her claim on her man.

“Well, look where that got me. I have no regret.”

“Me neither.”

They kiss, and it would be saccharine sweet except for the amount of tongue making an appearance. Neil looks away, a little uneasy at the display. He focuses on his second set of reps instead, eyes forward.

“Keep it in your pants ― and mouths ― you two. Anyway, you’re disgustingly and heterosexually in love with each other, with a bright future full of cute babies ahead of you and therefore are not relevant to the current conversation.” Dan audibly snorts at that. “We are talking about Neil here. What I want to know is: don’t you ever look?” Neil can see the strangely intense way he looks at him as he hastens to add, “We won’t tell.”

Neil watches the couple send warning twin looks Nicky’s way.

“Don’t pull this face. I don't mean look as if you’re at the market and ready to buy! I mean just look look. Obviously, you don’t have to lust after every handsome man ― or women,” he adds as an afterthought, like a concession, “but don’t you ever notice the beautiful people? Tell me you understand, at least, when I talk about the golden cornucopia we find ourselves in with our fellow athletes, sharing a building, a gym and a mess hall with the perkiest and shapeliest of the student body?” There is, honest to God, hope shining in his eyes right then at the prospect.

“What?” Neil was only half listening, his attention more on his legs burning under the heavy weights of the plates, and he’s not sure how they got from shopping to gold woven goat horns.

“Neil, sweety, don’t take this the wrong way. I know when you came to us you said you didn’t swing.” At this, Neil tries to interrupt to say he still doesn’t, but Nicky shushes him. “But surely, since then… since you and Andrew started… I mean… since you’ve clearly been … well, you’ve obviously opened a door that was closed before. Whether it leads out of the metaphorical closet or not, what I’m saying is, since all that, are you not able to see now when someone is good looking?”

He wants to get out of this interminable conversation about inconsequential things they have no business in. But it’s a fragile sort of hope in his friend’s eyes, like he’d be devastated to receive a no. Not for his own sake, but for Neil’s. Which is worse. If not for that, he would have simply ignored the latest plea.

With a very put upon sigh, Neil relaxes his legs between his second and third set and looks around.

He takes a moment to ponder at the words. He didn’t plan to give them any weight, but Nicky’s words are making him consider that he never actually stopped to wonder if anything was different, never thought to pause and ask himself if it had changed anything else for him. He lets his eyes wander around the room, doubting himself for the first time and not liking the feeling.

He skips fast over his friends ― pulling a face when he comes to Aaron ―, because he sees them everyday and he would have noticed. He looks further down the gym. He skims the line of freshmen, but all he sees are a bunch of rowdy kids who still haven’t learned the merits of teamwork and who resist his every effort to shape them up into something worth a spot in the line up.

His eyes come back around. The others Foxes are still training (small mercy), but he sees Andrew has also moved on to another spot, and is now closer to them than he was before. He still looks bored as usual, busying himself with free weights. It might be a coincidence. Might.

He turns to Nicky. “No. You still all look the same to me as before. Even the duds.” In truth, he doesn’t really know if they are duds or not since he never gave it any thought, but he still hopes some of them heard that bit. Mainly Jack. Fucker got in a scuffle with him last week and tried to twist his racket in a nasty way.

“Neil!” is Dan half-hearted reprimand. She knows. Jack tried the same trick on her three days ago.

He shrugs. “If they don’t have thick skin, I don’t know what they’re doing with us. No one cares what they look like.”

But Nicky is undeterred, a dog with a bone. “So no change in us, your teammates? Sure. Why not,” he says, dismissing the possibility with a flip of the hand. Then he leans in, his enthusiasm renewed. “But what about strangers?”

“Nicky…” Dan warns him. They know how wary he still gets around those.

Neil shrugs again. “They're just strangers.” He starts his third and final set.

Allison (because of course. He should have heard her approach, but her sneakers are way more silent than her usual high heals) gets close to the small huddle of slackers around Neil and joins the interrogation.

“What about movie stars? Any you find more interesting to look at than another?”

“Yes! Like in bath scene, or whatever other pretext they use to have them hunks remove their shirts ― or dresses, or whatever,” enthuse Nicky, sticking to his impartiality like it’s a dust covered post-it note.

Neil huffs. “No, I don't even like movies.” They should know that. He never watches closely on movie nights, more interested in the hangout with the upperclassmen than the pretext. Also, their movies are always some type of boring or other. When they’re not sappy, they’re chuck full of car chases and explosions (Neil already knows what escaping the crash of bullets in a stolen car feels like. It’s not what it’s hyped up to be). He only pretends to watch to humor them.

Undeterred, Allison pushes. She always pushes, or she wouldn’t be Allison. “A teacher, perhaps? Coach is out of the running, of course, on the account of fathering the mess that is Kevin and being ― well, Coach ― but some are still young, or we do have a nice offering of silver foxes. Ever given a second look to a calculus teacher?”

Neil thinks of older men and his legs falter for a second. He regains his stance before he can hurt himself, but his heart is still agitated, like a rabbit behind his breastbone. With more force than he intends, he lets out a clear “No” that startles his audience ― and then some ― for a couple seconds.

He feels a prickling on his skin and catches Andrew staring right at him, eyes heavy. He dismisses him with a subtle wave of his hand. That was nothing. He’s fine.

He’d do better to focus on his training. Since Nicky is not taking his seriously, balls are sure to get sent the goal’s way on Friday. Neil’s going to be pissed if they lose that match.

“Fine, not a fan of the oldies,” continues Allison, like nothing happened. Neil starts pressing again.

“Like Nicky said earlier, we share a tower and a dinning hall with the other athletes.” He’s not surprised to discover she’d been listening since the beginning of the conversation, since there’s a bet involved. And gossip. “Ever got distracted in the lift or in line at the register by a silhouette in front of you? Maybe a whiff of their musk or perfume caught your nose, or one of their tight workout getup made your pulse go faster?”

He has to stop his lip from curling instinctively at the egregious idea. Instead, his last set almost finished, he decides he’s quite done with the conversation. There’s way too many of them around him now, prying.

“Stop harassing me. And no. Go away.” He says with a bored tone.

Dan grabs Allison and walks away, recognizing that Neil is not having fun anymore (he didn’t before). They blessedly resume their own training further down the gym.

Nicky lingers a little longer. Now it's just them, plus Matt who is once more focusing on his set (or pretending to, at the very least). He has a significantly higher number of rep to go through.

Hesitantly, Nicky speaks so only Neil’s ears catch what he says, far from his usual loudness. “Hey… I don't want to confront you or force you into a confession before you're ready. You're my friend and I care for you, you know that.” Neil feels something in his chest at the words and soften his stance a bit. “I just… denial can be a hard hole to crawl out of, especially if you get too comfortable in it. But there's no light down there, even though it's easy to forget. The closet is an oppressive place, even when you’re unaware of the closed door. Just think about that. I'm always there if you want to talk.”

There is a fragile and wavering smile on Nicky’s lips just then, made brittle by the broken shards of his past. But there is warmth, too, and an undercurrent of something that taste like acceptance. He leaves without saying more, ruffling Neil’s hair a little as he goes, the touch gentle.

Neil has stopped his rep. He just lays there on his bench, even when Matt gets up and changes station, flipping him a look that he doesn’t return. Renee is quick to get in the spot next to him, even though he knows she already used the machine earlier. She says nothing and lets him alone in his feelings. He appreciates it.

It's not like he lied. He knows he still doesn't swing. It's annoying that they do not believe him. It's none of their business anyway, and frankly not an interesting topic. But Nicky's words, the outstretched hand they represent, the fact Renee came and doesn't ask even though he guesses she's still curious… it's a warmth he was not expecting, and he's a bit uncomfortable under its weight. He stays still just a bit longer in hopes it will settle from where it sits on his chest.

~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~

The words stick with him for part of the day. He dismissed them at first, but somehow they snagged somewhere, sliding between two thoughts, and refused to be dislodged. They feel icky and he just wants to scratch them away, but they keep evading his nails. They don’t leave him alone.

When he's in queue for lunch, he casts a wary eye around, just in case. But they're still just bodies of nobodies and he couldn't care less. In his stats class, he spots the two cheerleaders who have taken it as an elective, chatting in front of the class and letting the incoming traffic of eager students looking for seats pass them by. He thinks he’s been introduced to these ones.

One of them is wearing a flowy skirt and a tight blouse, buttons letting the cleavage dipping low. It’s the kind of clothing Aaron gets gross about when he sees Kathelyn in it. It elicits nothing in him though. He is quick to avoid their gaze, remembering the uncomfortable nights he's been forced to spend in their company now that they have slowly started opening their circle for game night celebrations. He does not want a reboot of the conversation with Marissa. He focuses solely on the board for the rest of class.

Later, when he's almost at the tower, the itch returns. On the pathway leading from the curb to the dorms, he sees a couple of guys he vaguely knows he's seen before make their way out of the front doors. Maybe they're from the basketball team? Or the football one? He simply doesn't care about other sports and is completely in the dark about their rooster.

They are tall and their casual clothes fit for a day of classes bunch up when they move, snagged in the hidden bumps of their bodies while they talk excitedly with their hands, in a way that lets him know they are probably quite strong. Their reach is longer than his: if they were to try to grab him, he'd have a hard time getting away without a head start. He ignores the instinct to sidestep by a wide berth when they cross path, since that would put him in the grass down from the pavement and the odd move would attract attention. Besides, he's seen them before; he knows they're not agents for his father or the Moriyamas. He forgets them as soon as they are no longer in his sight. He climbs the steps at an easy jog instead of taking the elevator, thinking of the assignments he needs to start working on.

~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~

It’s another movie night. The girls have picked something that “looks like a chick flick”, according to Aaron, just because there’s two women on the cover, but they won the boys over with the promise of a desperate car chase. Neil doesn’t care enough to have an opinion on this Themla & Louise movie. While they are setting up in the dorm that used to be his, Neil busies himself in the kitchenette with the popcorn and bowls of chips. He also makes a note to find some candy for Andrew.

They made great strides in integrating the two halves of the team into one, monsters and upperclassmen. No one protested to much when Dan proposed the group hangout to mix them all up. Technically, there is another “half” of the team, the freshmen purposefully forgotten in the invites. It’s still early in the year though, and Neil has no qualms about it. He sees enough of them on practice everyday. Especially Jack. He’s grateful for the reprieve and the time spent with the familiar people he started calling his own. Or, more accurately, that claimed him as theirs. It still does something to him to think about how fierce they were all about having him back after Baltimore. Just for that, the scars littering his arms and face bother him a little less.

From where he’s waiting for the popcorn to beep, hips resting on the countertop, he can see them bumbling about, putting the DVD in and bickering about who gets which cushion and the softest blanket, and whose feet are too smelly to get allowed in the communal pile-up. Kevin is therefore exiled on the outskirt, his protest drowned out by the bustling about of the others, and retreats to his familiar pouting. He pretended not to care by leaving and coming back, having fetched his laptop (and changed his socks) only to put on a championship game on it, the sound muted forcefully by Andrew almost immediately. Kevin is frowning since then while Andrew is ignoring him, which is nothing out of the ordinary. The others are still settling and making trade offers for better spots in exchange for pillows held hostage. It’s a drawn-out affair.

Nicky comes by to fetch something he guesses must be a soda, but he’s not bothered enough to check what else makes it in the glass from Aaron’s private stash.

Instead of leaving, the tall boy graciously settles next to him, maybe a little smug from his pilfering. He looks towards the other Foxes as well. Kevin is the closest to them, stuffed into an old and uncomfortable armchair, his profile stark in the blue light of the screen resting on his knees.

“God, that man has a jaw so sharp you could cut cheese on it.”

“So not very sharp, then,” Neil answers matter-of-factly, eyes still on the general merriness in the other room.

Nicky lets out a huff of haughty indignation. “You know what I mean!” he exclaims before picking up speed. “He’s our own little movie star, the Brad Pitt of collegiate exy. Mysterious and beloved, and most importantly the bi awakening of a large swat of his fan base.”

“… Who?” Neil asks, his face subtly echoing his confusion.

Nicky looks down at him, offended to the core. “You are a lost cause, I do not know why we keep you around.” Their conversation is interrupted by Allison screaming at Aaron.

“For the last time, this is not a chick flick you utter moron, now sit your ass down or I will suffocate you with your own pillow!”

“I don’t think so,” is Andrew’s calm response from his spot on the ground, but Neil can hear his heart is not in it and this is more of a perfunctory threat. Renee still diverts Allison’s attention, just to be on the safe side, while Matt coaxes Aaron down with an unopened beer. The chaos resumes at a more subdued volume.

Seeing as no murder is impending, Nicky carries on like the interruption never happened. “Actually yes, I do, that’s exactly why we have you here tonight. We are going to take charge of your education.”

“I’m already in uni,” Neils deadpans.

“I’m talking about the only education that really matters: pop culture.”

Neil says nothing but feels the edge of his mouth curl in a slight smile. He leaves it be for now.

Of course, Nicky speaks again a couple seconds latter, incapable of sitting in the quiet. “I don’t understand how you can see him and not think he’s hot.”

“I still don’t know who this Brad is.”

“Not him! Although we will remedy that unconscionable crime in an instant.” He inclines his head towards Neil, refocusing on him. “No, I’m talking about Kevin.”

Neil stops looking ahead to face Nicky head on. A second pass where they are just looking at each other. Neil blinks to clear his head. It does not work.

“What?”

“What do you mean, ‘What?’ Come on! You’re gonna tell me you spent all this time with him when you came in, obsessed by his presence on the team, thirsty for all those private exy lessons at night, basking in his aura of superstar, and it was completely platonic? Nothing of his dark and broody allure stirred your interest, even a little bit?”

He thinks back on how he avoided Kevin as much as possible in the beginning, afraid to be recognized. “I was never obsessed with him Nicky, you know that,” he responds, dismissive and uneasy at the notion. “It was never like that.”

“Fine, you were not a complete fanboy in the traditional sense. But,” and with an air that says he still isn’t sure he believes him, he adds, hand extended towards Kevin like providing the proof of his argument, “he's hot. Tell me you see that.”

Neil throws him an irritated look.

“Safe space,” Nicky says, placating and hands in the air in a show of meekness.

Neil breathes in through his nose, slowly. He likes Nicky. It’s important to remember that in times like this when the man tests his patience. Nicky is still looking at him expectantly, and just like the last thing the subject came up, there is something soft hiding behind the blunt prodding.

There is a short battle of will between them, Neil measuring his aggravation at the conversation against Nicky’s desire to see it through and get whatever answer he is looking for.

But all the Foxes (the good ones anyway) are there, in good spirits and together, happy and safe in a way that still feels unfamiliar, the sensation curling in his belly like a cat next to the fire. He can hear the chatter of his friends close by and still smell the warm aroma of the pizza they ordered before the movie. So, Neil lets his shoulders relax and lets Nicky have this one, repaying his freely given friendship by deciding to humor him.

He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly in a show of defeat, and Nicky smiles like a little kid who just received a lollipop.

He turns to study Kevin, following Nicky’s still extended arm inviting him to take a second look, to see if he can understand what the fuss is about.

He takes in the picture that is Kevin Day watching exy. There is indubitable raw attention in the way he focuses on every move the players make on the screen of his computer, like the rest of the world does not exist outside the small square of screen, like it is truth, sustenance and life. He sees the chess piece tattoo high on his left cheek, a mark of defiance and a claim all in one, long awaited and hard won. But they are all things he already knows about the man. They feel familiar like they are his own. And they kinda are, mirrored and echoed in him and on his own face.

He tries to see what Nicky, what others see when they look. He cocks his head.

Then, after a beat or more, he says, “I guess he's symmetrical.”

“Symmetrical.” Nicky’s voice is unusually toneless.

“Yes,” opines Neil, satisfied with his answer.

“Symmetrical,” he breathes. “You're kidding. Tell me you're joking. That's the best you can do?”

“And he’s... tall?” he throws in to prove he paid attention. “That’s a good thing, no?” He looks back to Nicky and his face looks drained of emotion, just like his voice was.

“‘Thats a good thing’...” he mutters, repeating the words almost uncomprehendingly, before raising his voice to a more normal level. “Kid, you’re lucky I like you. Yes, tall men are considered attractive.” He is quick to follow with “Although I guess it’s obviously not one of your criteria, considering… well.” He can’t help but look surreptitiously at his cousin while he says that, like a man burned too many times by his careless tongue. He hastens to add, licking his lips nervously, “Anyway!”

But Neil is considering something else, so he asks, curious, “Why do you specify men like that?”

It takes a moment for Nicky to dislodge his attention from Andrew’s often prickly reactions and remember what they were saying. “Hum? Oh. Because, my dear child, women are supposed to be small and dainty.” It is said with both assurance and dismissiveness, an undeniable truth like the blue of the sky.

Neil folds his arms loosely at that, shifting where his hip is still pressing against the countertop to avoid numbing it. “That’s some bullshit double standard. Allison is tall and everyone says she’s hot.” He knows because he’s heard it enough to get thoroughly bored by the statement. Allison being hot is apparently another immoveable truth like the sky’s hue.

“Ugh, do not let her hear you or she will eat you for breakfast.” He rolls his eyes so far they are in danger of getting stuck. “Sure, they say that, even though I personally don’t see it. But not because she’s tall. Its because she’s slim and has big tits.”

Neil takes it in. Like anything the man says, there is probably some amount of truth underneath a landslide of Nicky. He cannot scrounge enough interest to sieve for the pebble of reality. The microwave beeps his aggravating electronic trills, so he uncrosses his arms with the intention of resuming putting snacks together.

“Those standards are dumb. I’m over it and this whole topic.”

“What are you pointing at?”

Kevin is looking at them, brow furrowed accusingly. They are both still clearly angled toward him, and Nicky’s arm is still dangling in the air, making apparent who they were talking about.

He looks at Nicky, then Neil, then Nicky again. Since no one is lifting the mystery for him, his forehead creases even more in a frown.

“Probably the way your obnoxious personality is akin to a Venus flytrap, constantly sucking in idiots’ interest.”

Neil does not react to the indirect insult, but Nicky makes a weird little sound over it.

Kevin sputters, surprised by Andrew’s intervention. “I’m not a carnivorous plant.”

“Well if you were, you’d definitely be this one. It’s the most basic of them,” snarks Allison.

“Now who’s calling who basic, barbie?” Aaron drawls in reply.

All the Foxes start talking over each other, taking sides in the argument or trying to temper it (the last one is Renee. It’s always just Renee).

Neil had stopped listening a couple replies ago, noticing how Andrew has almost finished his candy. He grabs a new bag while fishing the piping hot popcorn bag from the microwave.

Nicky leans towards Neil conspiratorially “That was close.” Face still so very near Neil’s own, he turns it towards his target with an unsubtle jut of the chin. “The trick is not to look at him for too long, or he notices. It’s like he’s got a sixth sense or something.”

“Are you still staring?” glowers Kevin, while the other Foxes are still going on strong with their bickering.

Caught, Nicky waves his hands in front of him in a defensive manner “It was not me, I swear! I know the rules!”

Kevin throws them a black look, most certainly not fooled. Neil doesn’t react. Kevin eventually goes back to the game on his laptop and it’s almost like nothing happened, apart from the fact that his mouth is now flat and disapproving.

Before Nicky can rope him into more conversation, Neil empties the steaming popcorn into a bowl and takes his offering to the living room coffee table. He spots an empty spot right next to Andrew, with a small pillow waiting for him. He drops the candy bag on Andrew’s lap with a small smile. Without turning from the still empty TV screen, the blond puts a hand on Neil’s mouth to erase it, and Neil smiles even more against his warm palm.

~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~

They lost. They lost their match against the goddam Jackals. They were this fucking close to winning, with a two points margin, but then 20 minutes before the end one of the freshmen got tripped by his mark and let them get to the goal to score. They could have recovered, except then, the freshman started swinging. Neil tried to get them to back off before they got carded by grabbing their arms, but Sheena turned on Neil and punched him right in the ribs so he’d let go. The now free Jackal didn’t spare a thank you to Neil, too happy to get his revenge now that no one was on him and aimed for everything orange with all the force of his 6’2’’ frame.

It devolved into chaos from there, with the Foxes closest to them pilling on to save or avenge Neil, or even just do some pummeling of their own, and more Jackals getting merry with it. It fast got to the level of a full on brawl on the court and multiple referees had to intervene bodily, still blowing their whistles like it would do anything at that point.

The initial freshman got red carded, taking him out for the next match as well and two more foxes got yellow cards. For her part, Sheela got sent on the bench with a nasty limp. Neil suspected it was Fox inflicted. All that meant they had needed to replace three players at once (Abby insisted on benching him too, even though he was fine), but they were already on the last quarter of the game, which meant no one on the bench was fresh. The Jackals proceeded to score three more goals while the Foxes only managed one, and won the match.

Neil had been pissed for the last two days.

He had planned to do his homework but, unable to decompress enough to focus, he instead finds himself glaring at the open pages on his lap more than anything else. Next to him, on the beanbags of the dorms, Nicky and Aaron are playing on the console. The sounds of the animated car racing game are grating on him more than he’d care to admit.

Andrew is next to him on the couch, watching them play with an apathic expression, while Kevin is a bit further in the room, hunched over his desk like a good student with a bad posture. Mid-terms are slowly looming over them and Neil should really study. Or work on his paper. Or find his missing algebra textbook. Anything remotely relevant to his academic success, really, now that he knows he won’t be dead at the end of the year and needs good enough grades to stay on the team. He just can’t fucking focus, like ants are crawling under his skin.

He keeps looking at the time but it’s flowing at a snail’s pace. It’s still too early for night practice, even though it feels like he’s been sitting here for hours, so Neil just fidgets in place, trying to wrestle his restless energy into focus.

After his third defeat in a row, Nicky raises from his seat and hands his controller to Andrew before going to the kitchen, saying all he needs to get his mojo back is a little sustenance, and then he’ll wipe the floor with Aaron, promise.

“Yeah sure, that’s going to fix your hand-eye coordination,” says the bad winner, lacking any and all sportsmanship.

While Nicky is putting together an elaborate snack in a promise of revenge, the twins start a new game. It is soon evident that Andrew is not trying to win and is mainly aiming for sabotaging Aaron so that the other little characters in the screen end up passing them, making Aaron bitch about the unsportsmanlike attitude, blind to his hypocrisy.

With the twins distracted, Nicky comes to sit on the armrest of the couch next to Neil, his plate balancing precariously on his bent knee. He watches the race to mediocrity that is happening in front of them for a moment before taking on a soft and falsely joyful voice, like it’s just for him to hear. Except Nicky has never been good at subtlety or volume control.

“So, about this not being gay thing…”

Neil feels his hackles raise immediately and turns roughly to the side to face the man, before warning him through clenched teeth he’s struggling not to bare. He is in no mood for a repeat of this.

“Nicky.”

Aaron turns to them distractedly, frowning, before throwing an exasperated “Not this again” at them over his shoulder. Andrew takes the opportunity to use a special ability that makes the screen sparkle and Aaron go off track.

“I swear I don’t mean to pry, it’s just that it feels like we left the conversation before reaching a satisfying conclusion. Or any conclusion at all, really.”

Neil takes a sharp inhale of breath through angry nostrils, fists clenched over the books in his lap. "Still not gay, Nicky,” he answers as curt as possible, because he knows not to give an inch or the cousin will take a mile. He was very happy to let this conversation die and not revisit it, ever. He feels like running out of the room and not coming back until his limbs ache from exhaustion and the buzzing in his skin quiets. He feels like dragging Kevin to the stadium, no matter how early it is, and run drills until he can’t hold his racquet anymore. He feels like forgoing Kevin and snatching the maz’s keys by the door and going by himself right now. He just knows he can’t. He’s not a runner anymore. This is the life he chose.

“Well, I mean, are you sure? Because ―”

“I am sure, Nicky,” manages to pass through his gritted teeth. He is so done with today. He is done with the whole week, actually, and would very much like for time to go faster so he could go burn himself out on the court and not hear annoying prying questions. Kevin might be an ass, but at least there is something to be gained from listening to him; under all the criticism are hiding useful pointers to make him a better stricker, player and athlete. Even if they are delivered in the most unhelpful way possible.

Nicky, on the other hand, has the tendency to fixate on things no one else cares about. On a good day, Neil doesn’t care and just ignores it, leaving the others to deal with him. On a very good day, he might be inclined to pretend to listen. This is far from a good day. Nicky has used all of his patience allowance for the week and even borrowed into the next.

“My philosophy is that everyone should try being gay at least for a bit, it’s good to broaden your horizon. It’s like travelling. You come back with so many good memories even if you never go back.”

“Why are you so obsessed with my sex life?” The words escape him, loud in the suddenly quiet room, the shout reverberating on the walls and suffocating everyone in it. The boys have stopped playing their kamikaze round and their stares now weight heavily on him. Andrew’s face looks unbothered, but his eyes are sharp underneath the heavy brows and his posture is no longer relaxed like it had been earlier. Aaron’s eyes keep moving between Neil and Nicky, seemingly calculating who to assign blame to and counting the decimals for each like a doomsday banker.

Kevin has finally turned on his chair to look at them all, and looks anxious and uncertain about the disturbance, shoulders tense and knuckles whitening on his pen.

“It’s not about your sex life!” replies Nicky in a hurry, words stumbling over each other to make an exit, trying to dispel the idea before it takes root. His breath quickens while he shoots panicked looks at Andrew like he’s readying himself to escape a stabbing. Neil really thinks Nicky should look at him instead.

“It’s about,” Nicky looks around, eyes looking everywhere like a panicked horse “… about you being comfortable with yourself, accepting what you are!”

“I don’t have a problem with what I am,” answers Neil, the voice of reason with too much bite to be conciliatory. “It’s you who keeps bringing it up. What makes you so determined to have me say that I’m gay?” he throws at him, battling to regain control, hoping the answer will allow him to put the matter to rest so he can release his grip on his textbook and trust they won’t try to grab at something else instead. Like a soft body part, for example.

Nicky looks uncomfortable and a little lost, a novelty. His eyes keep dancing between him and Andrew, which is better than just Andrew but note quite there yet. Neil thinks of telling Andrew to back off so he can lead the conversation better, feeling the quiet intensity radiating from the man behind him. This is Neil’s problem. He’s dealing with it.

Nicky seems like he’s rallying and tries to paint over his next words, coating them with his usual cheerfulness, even though the result still has his voice falter and stumble.

“Well… You see… When a daddy and another daddy love each other very much…” his explanation peters out under the unimpressed looks everyone is sending his way. Kevin even scoffs from the other side of the room.

Aaron breaks the uneasy silence first, with his usual tactlessness. “You’re officially the worst. I can’t believe you tried to be our role model.” Some of the tension leaves the room, at last. Neil’s shoulders lower somewhat. He hadn’t realised how tight he was now sitting, taunt like a string. He unclasps his hands from his spanish textbook and breathes slowly, once.

“And to teach us safe sex, when the public education system was already there to fail us.” Andrew adds, the bored facade back in place.

“Mr. Duncan failing to put a condom on a banana was truly the culmination of an unremarkable and uncomfortable career.”

Andrew has the controller back in hand and is lazily trying to shove Aaron’s forgotten vehicle off a cliff. “Not like he ever had the option of quitting while he was ahead, seeing as he never got anywhere.”

Kevin interrupts their reminiscence. “A banana? Why a banana?”

The twins and Nicky look at Kevin like they pity him, while he still looks puzzled by the idea.

“Another failing of the chicken team.” says Aaron in mock despair, contempt kept whole for Kevin.

Neil for his part is still looking at Nicky, anger not threatening to boil over anymore but still simmering under his skin, fingers tingling lightly under the recess of adrenaline in his veins after the brief explosion. He breathes in slowly once more.

Nicky catches his eyes and opens his mouth.

He exhales fast. “I'm done discussing this, Nicky. Drop it.”

Nicky does not drop it (of course he doesn’t). He instead raises his hands in front of him like he’s readying to launch into another spiel and they will help him empathetically illustrate his point.

Neil scoffs in the face of his stubbornness, a wind making the burning ambers of his anger light anew. He is tired of not being listened to, of his words of warning being dismissed. He’s done being bulldozed over with boring conversations and made to answer to the same tired questions. He doesn’t know when he gave the impression that he could be backed into a corner and made to comply.

What he is is still a difficult topic, the shape of Neil Josten still sometimes hard to trace like through fog on a bathroom mirror. He is trying very hard to inhabit this skin like his own and let old habits buried with the memory of a boy named Nathaniel. He thinks that, most of the time, he’s managing quite well actually. He might not have an answer to what his favorite movie is, or what song he likes to play on repeat, but so what if there are still some blind spots in the fabric of Neil Josten? He hasn’t had time to examine everything and fill every box. Sometimes, he just likes a song, even if he doesn’t know which it is. It doesn’t matter, because he shows up day after day, wearing the same number 10 jersey, belonging to the Foxes. He doesn’t know what more they want from him.

So it does more than grate on him to see Nicky pointing again and again to some perceived missing piece, like it would make him whole. The Neil they have in front of them is as whole as they will ever get. He fought tooth and nails for the right to be Neil, and no one else will ever get to dictate what that means.

He makes sure he has all of Nicky’s attention this time before standing in front of him, crowding him slightly on his perch on the arm rest, head finally more level with the tall boy. He feels his teeth showing through the tense tilt of his lips. The words come out deceptively level.

“Nicky, listen to me closely,” he breathes. “I know you picked ‘gay man’ as the cornerstone of your personality ― God, everyone who has ever met you knows it. But we are not all obsessed with sex like you are. I've got more in my life than a desire to shock people with lewd remarks or to grope unwilling men. But I like you enough to give you the courtesy of not interfering with how you decide to live your life, and I think it’s time you extend the same courtesy to me.”

It could have been polite. It comes out sounding like a threat. Neil is shocked to how similar to Ichirou’s veiled menaces it rings. His tongue is laden with a heavy feeling, and it tastes like leather from a luxurious car, coppery like blood, sulfurous like gunpowder in a tower.

Neil needs to go before he losses it even more. He storms out of the dorms, not looking back on all the faces turned on him, unwilling to see what expression his knife-edged words have carved on them.

~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~

The colors are slowly bleeding out of the sky like watered down watercolors, catching in the last rays of the sun and reverberating on the overcast of clouds. Neil feels his anger follow them down the drain, flowing out of sight behind the horizon to be put to rest in the mouth of the setting sun.

The slight chill in the wind warns of fall creeping towards its end, creating ripples in the branches and making leaves flutter, flattening still green grass, and sowing goosebumps on his exposed skin. He had left without his jacket in his hurry to escape.

From his usual perch along the drop of the rooftop, Neil looks at how the cars in the parking lot catch the light and shine like lightening in the slowly advancing darkness who grays everything else and he tries to erase all other thoughts from his mind.

He hears a rustle behind him, a lock being jostled and a door creaking on his hinges. He turns towards the noise, knowing who he will find there.

“Don't worry, I did not come up here to grope you.”

It stabs right in the interstice between his ribs, close to his heart. Sure, it could just be a fun jab. If it was coming from someone else, maybe. But Andrew uses words sparsely and makes them count. There is a weight to them that prevents them from being taken by the wind, there and gone and inconsequential.

He’s still standing by the door.

He won’t advance without some sort of invitation. Not today. Not after Neil ran away to escape them.

But Neil didn’t run from Andrew. And he didn’t run very far, either, keeping to a place where he could be found.

He might have forgotten to grab his cellphone, though. He’ll get chastised for it latter, but in the meantime, Neil just drops his shoulder and turns back to his observation of the campus.

Andrew takes it for the invitation that it is and makes his way to him before dropping Neil’s coat on his head and then sitting close, but just out of reach. Neil observes him while he twists around to put on the garment he had not thought of bringing to ward him against the chilling of the evening. The way Andrew holds himself telegraphs his habitual bored state, but Neil is not fooled, he sees the slight tension traversing his frame. It’s in his arms, in his neck, in the impenetrable blankness of his face.

He revealed his cards with his sarcastic greeting. Andrew is not keeping his distance and holding himself in check for his own benefice, but for Neil’s. He’s wary of bruising him, and Neil realises the extent of the damage his careless words might have caused the blond. He’s collateral damage from the little grenade he threw in their living room.

Andrew doesn’t know the jab takes roots in a long ago night out in Eden, so long ago it’s mostly buried and forgotten, a night where drugs changed hands by way of mouth, blurring the edges of memories until it was unclear if hands had touched Neil at all under the strobe lights and who they might have belonged to. It takes root in a panicked morning where the pressure on his stomach was not from the gun shaped hands of his mother, but from hands unknown in a shape that did not dare say its name.

It has nothing to do with anything that happened on this roof, on a day were panic was the sole responsible for the unsteadiness of it. A day were newfound hands and mouth had steadied him, anchored him and opened a door in his mind and body he did not know existed.

But Andrew does not know about Eden, and Neil doesn’t plan on changing that. What Andrew knows all too well is the unyielding strength of greedy hands on vulnerable flesh and the fresh horror of it playing forever in his infallible brain.

Unable to shape words that would dissipate the association in Andrew’s mind without dooming Nicky, Neil just huffs, the shadow of a smile stretching his scarred cheek slightly, whishing his frustration out of his body and making place for the comfort of Andrew’s presence. He doesn’t move his head when he speaks, but he casts a glance to the man next to him before he starts. Andrew catches it. He always does.

“Sorry for leaving like that.” He means the running, he means the grenade. He can’t be more eloquent than that, the words jumbled and slippery in his mind. He looks around, like he could find the ones he’s looking for perched on a park bench below or laying on the sidewalk. “Nicky pissed me off. It’s not… not what I think of gay men, like, in general. Not even of Nicky, really,” he admits, before angling his neck so his face is entirely visible to Andrew, “but especially not of you.”

Andrew says nothing. He keeps looking ahead, like he is also fascinated by the lunch wrappers being thrown away in the wind, crossing the asphalt in a weird and off-tempo valse. It’s been a while since Neil has been anything but truthful with Andrew. He doesn’t have ground to doubt his word now. He stays silent, accepting them as fact.

The silence is more comfortable than it was. It stretches between them more like a lake than an elastic band, it’s contours secure and not in danger of breaking. Neil drifts on its surface like the wrappers are doing below. Andrew doesn’t move. He doesn’t fetch his cigarettes from his pocket, even though Neil can see the bulge of them through his light coat.

Maybe it’s not all that he came up to talk about. Maybe there is still more to this conversation than Neil thought. His silence is an offering, but his words can be, too. He casts his mind about, fishing for a thread he can pull.

He finds something.

He normally wouldn't ask. But he knows Andrew came on the roof because of him, because he was upset. He knows Andrew's here for him, his presence already calming. And he can glimpse the shimmering of a question glinting in his own mind, hiding behind what normally occupies his thoughts enough not to bother. Unobstructive, but there nonetheless. It had been loitering for a while now, maybe since Nicky started pestering him.

“So... you’re gay.” It’s more a statement than a question, but there is space around it to shape the words any way they need to go.

Andrew looks at him like he’s the dumbest motherfucker on earth. And he might be. It’s ironic that he’s asking the question he’s been dodging for weeks now and expecting an answer. He refuses to dwell on it. He winces but trudges on.

“Do you look at people, well men I suppose, and think they're… hot?” The word forms strange on his tongue, the taste and texture of it unfamiliar like a foreign cuisine.

Andrew takes his time to answer.

“I notice when they are. Doesn’t mean I feel like jumping them.”

And Neil gets it. Gets the elusive meaning whose truth can be found in the spaces between the words uttered out loud, from the way Andrew breathes them. He knows Andrew and therefore he knows what he means. It’s more than just a rebuke to his earlier lash out.

Andrew might be attracted to men, but he hates Neil.

He wouldn’t act on it with someone else, which Neil already knew, but also wouldn’t want to. And that’s something Neil hadn’t really contemplated before, one way or another, hadn’t let himself consciously wonder at in his mind. He finds that it’s not that different for him, in the end. However they get to that point: there’s only Andrew for Neil, and Neil for Andrew.

He breathes in, slow, deep and relaxed for the first time today. He feels the tug of a small smile trying to escape on his lips.

“Does that mean you like looking at me?” he teases.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” Andrew’s tone is blank as usual, but the slope of his shoulders is more relaxed than when he first came up, easing into the push of his hands on the rough texture of the roof.

Neil turns the other way to smile a secret and happy smile, feet dangling over the edge swaying lightly.

There is another stretch of warm silence while they distract themselves by looking at the last dregs of sunset slowly seeping of the campus’ eyeline. Movement catches his attention here and there and he lazily follows the ebb and flow of life on campus, people getting in and out of cars and buildings, walking on the green, congregating in little pockets of eager socialising before separating again.

Andrew, maybe reassured by Neil’s easy distraction, takes out two cigarettes and lights them both before passing one over. Neil cups his in his hands to ward it from the occasional burst of wind and Andrew pockets back his lighter before taking a long drag. He exhales slowly, letting the smoke escape from a narrow opening in his pursed lips, the smoke billowing and wild and not staying in place.

He cuts through the silence. “You don't notice when people are attractive.”

Ah, that’s fair, Neil figures. He was the one to breach the subject first. He isn’t fooled by the flat tone the statement was delivered in, hearing the demand for a confirmation in it, and starts crafting a response accordingly.

“Not really. I mean, I know on an intellectual level if someone is considered objectively attractive. It doesn't do anything for me, though.” He shakes his cigarette lightly to dislodge the cinder build up. “It’s just another thing about them, like having a big nose or a pricey jacket. It’s only a thing to remember them by.”

“You wouldn't know a pricey jacket if the tag strangled you.”

Neil smiles at the dig. There’s another moment of silence while Andrew pulls on his cigarette. He’s once again the one to break it.

“And you’re not gay.” It’s another affirmation. Like the others, it calls for a response. Neil shifts to sit a bit more comfortably. It brings him incrementally closer to Andrew.

“I don’t think I am, anyway. I don’t feel pulled towards men. Or women. I still don’t think about people that way,” he finishes a bit lamely. It’s not the best answer. He’s just not quite sure how to frame it to make sense.

Andrew hasn’t moved, hasn’t reacted to any of it yet. Neil tries to lighten the mood.

“Ergo, not gay,” he jokes, putting on a weak smile.

Andrew shoots him a look. “Did you gobble a philosophy book on your way over?”

Neil raises an eyebrow, amused. “Nah, too many pointless questions. I prefer facts.”

“Like math.”

“Yeah, like math.”

There is another lull in the conversation. Neil can’t shake the feeling he’s not being clear.

Andrew reaches to the dying cigarette in his hand, bringing them a bit closer, and replaces it with his own even though it’s further gone. He inhales deep to bring back the fire to his stolen goods.

“The fact is, though, I noticed you.” It’s almost imperceptible, but Andrew stills. It’s close to completely dark now, and they’re sitting in the strange stretch of time where neither the stars nor the lampposts have showed up yet to brighten the early evening. Still, there is enough light for Neil to make up Andrew’s profile, his hard and blunt features softened by the shadows and the remnants of a babyface still clinging to his cheeks. Even though he can’t see them, he can trace the light dusting of freckles on the bridge on his nose, can imagine the light color of his eyelashes and how they perfectly frame his deep hazel eyes.

“I still do.”

Andrew turns in his direction, not just his face, but with his whole body. Slowly, deliberately. There is a quiet intensity to him that wasn’t there a moment ago. Andrew is looking intently at him, the embers of his cigarette having nothing on the fire simmering in his golden irises, making the twin brasiers aimed his way shine brighter. It might be anger. Or…

“And I like when you look at me,” he says, voice low. “Especially like that.”

Andrew probably already knew that. Neil didn’t think he ever doubted any of it, not really. He knows Neil would not lie to him with his yesses. But hearing it might steady something in him that had been rattling in his skull the past week, what with Nicky’s incessant poking and probing.

“113 %”

He forgoes letting out a quip and opts to instead angle his dying cigarette away from his face, now sporting a grin he can’t hide, to rest it somewhere behind him. He then defiantly inclines his head slowly, breaching some of the distance between them.

There’s now a bushfire living in Andrew’s pupils. And it’s catching.

Andrew drags up his free hand near his neck, stopping just shy of making contact, and asks, voice gravely from smoke (from cigarette or inferno?)

“Yes or no?”

As soon as the “yes” comes out of his mouth, a tad breathy, Andrew’s hand lands at the juncture of his neck and jaw, thumb lightly brushing along the delicate bone, fingers curling on his nape and bringing warmth to his wind-chilled skin.

With his other hand, Andrew crushes his unfinished cigarette before throwing it over the edge, then plucks Neil’s from his fingers and makes it share the same fate, bringing himself steadily closer with the motions. Neil is buzzing in anticipation. Andrew then uses the hand still on his neck to pull lightly in an invitation to meet him in the middle, which Neil eagerly accepts.

Their mouths crash together in their hurry to discover each other anew. It is neither soft nor gentle and it only adds fuel to the fire in Andrew’s expression, who is already nibbling on Neil’s lips with hard teeth to better part them. It’s almost punishing.

Neil is as pliable and willing as always, ceding to Andrew all the territory he aims to claim in earnest and enthusiastic surrender. They kiss with tongue and need, Andrew taking and Neil giving, their breaths harsh and mingling.

Andrew’s free hand takes Neil’s and brings them to his hair before pressing them there. Just there. Neil settles his fingers deep into the short and soft strands adorning the top of his head, splaying his palms to let his pinkies caress the shorn fuzz at the base of his skull. He takes care to keep his touch light and not to grab, but he takes pleasure in raking his nails intermittently on the scalp beneath them. Especially in the shiver traversing Andrew that this motion elicits, making his breath hitch with it. It makes Andrew voracious in his hunt for his tongue.

Andrew’s hands are roaming free, buffalos barreling through the wild plains of his body. They graze, they pinch, they caress and grab in a way that doesn’t make sense to anyone not feeling the currents traversing the both of them and animating their spines and limbs. They bathe in the sensations.

When they unluck their mouths to gulp avid breaths, the cold air in their lungs a balm on their frenzy, Neil shifts to nuzzle at Andrew’s neck, light and teasing kisses along the vein pulsing there.

Andrew grabs him firmly by the nape and tears him of him like a disobedient kitten. Neil knows his amusement is visible on his face when he sees the displeased expression mutedly pinching Andrew’s brows. But his eyes are brewing in their depths something that is close to anger, and at the same time the farthest thing from it. There is a moment when they just look at each other, breaths evening slowly, wordlessly reiterating understandings going further than any deal ever could. Neil admires the flushed skin of Andrew’s neck, the plump allure of his raw and puffing lips. But there is something more in Andrew’s eyes, tucked silently behind the pronounced slope of his brows.

Palms firm on Neil’s shoulders, pinning him in place, Andrew’s face lowers towards his, inches by creeping inches. He pushes back when Neil shifts to make his own way to him, throwing him an admonishing look. Neil understands and settles in to wait him out, breathing back to normal. Andrew watches him a couple of beats, making sure he won’t try again. Neil’s hands are hanging limp behind Andrew’s back, his forearms supported by the strong shoulders underneath. Seemingly satisfied, Andrew starts back on his slow approach. He stops a mere hair away from skin to skin contact. There is something fragile in the air, hesitant. Neil doesn’t dare breathe.

Instead of making for his lips, Andrew angles his head, causing for their noses to brush lightly. It could be an accident if Andrew wasn’t always so precise in his movements, his awareness of the space him and others occupy honed and weaponized daily. It feels deliberate in a way that undoes him, unravels a thread deep in his stomach. Andrew cranes his neck a tad more and their foreheads are touching, noses slotted against each other but not squashed against cheeks. Neil can’t see his eyes anymore. Andrew leaves them there to breathe each other in, to feel the warmth radiating from their star kissed skin.

Neil finally let’s out the breath he’s been holding, letting it fan gently across Andrew’s features. In response, the hands on his shoulders squeeze once, gentle and firm.

It is solid and real and everything he never dreamed could be his. Andrew is close, sheltering him from the wind and sharing his heat, his simple presence enough to make the universe stand still and everything that isn’t him seem far away.

When all is said and done, Neil trusts Andrew with everything he’s put into being Neil and even further, and Andrew trusts him not to try breaching the walls he erected around intimacy and himself until he decides to lower them himself. They trust in their yesses and truths, in everything they ever exchanged, in each other.

Maybe it's not important, what Neil feels or doesn’t feel for others. What Andrew once felt for other men. As long as Andrew's pull towards him is real, as long as this is real… then really the rest doesn’t matter, does it?