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The first time they’d slept together, on the same bed, had been in the cabin.
Rough kisses and wandering hands. Low moans and overwhelming pleasure. And then they’d separated, aware of each other, drifting kindly to opposite ends of the bed. After Renee had interrupted their sleep for Andrew’s car keys, they continued to sleep just as they had been.
If they were in one bed, it was not a question: they did not touch while they slept.
For both of their sakes.
After that, it rarely happened for a long time after. They were not a soft couple despite the soft fragility of their emotions. They were hard and rough, and everything about them was both all-encompassing and too easy to crumble. Neil treaded carefully; Andrew kept the right amount of distance. They took their time with a peaceful pace, and it worked for them. Neither was eager to push the other for more when it was not yet wanted nor necessary.
But eventually, the night calls for needs.
The next time they slept in the same bed was a night at Columbia in late June. The summer night was surprisingly cool. Neil was tipsy. Andrew was tipsy, though it was hard to tell, because alcohol did nothing but add a low, invisible buzz to his insides.
They got back to the house and Nicky immediately rushed to the bathroom, his retching audible throughout the lower level. Aaron groaned but followed his cousin to check on him. Kevin collapsed on the couch with an irritable and tired sigh. Andrew started up the stairs, and Neil followed clumsily.
When they entered Andrew’s room, the blonde said nothing about Neil following. He did, however, stare intently at Neil as the younger began taking off his shirt and kicking off his shoes, eyes partially closed in exhaustion.
“What’re you doing?” Andrew asked, voice flat.
“Bed,” Neil said, just a mumble. He got to the edge of the bed, knowing Andrew liked the wall, and cuddled into the huge comforter.
The room was silent for a long moment. Andrew continued to stare down at Neil, unable to tell if he was amused or not. When Neil blinked open his eyes in confusion at the room’s stillness, he saw Andrew’s expression.
“Oh,” Neil said. He pushed off the blanket and lifted himself off the bed, standing in front of Andrew in a sleepy daze. “Yes or no?”
Andrew stared at him for another long moment. Something about him looked surprised, but his face remained blank, so it was hard to tell. It seemed like Neil’s ‘yes or no’ hadn’t exactly been what he’d expected. Apparently, his staring had meant something else. Neil was a bit too tipsy to completely understand that it had, perhaps, been an affectionate stare.
Andrew rolled his eyes. “Yes.”
Neil gave a sloppy grin and went right back into the sheets. He curled up and was out within a minute. Andrew kicked off his own shoes and changed into sweatpants, but kept his long-sleeved shirt on. He climbed over Neil to get near the wall, gathered the blankets to his chin, and fell asleep.
A day in August, a few weeks before classes started again, a bad day for Neil came.
He’d woken up, blank-stared and drowsy, not acknowledging anything and not talking. At breakfast, when Kevin grabbed his shoulder in the kitchen to get his attention, Neil flinched back. Neil and Kevin looked at each other for a long moment, both in shock.
“Sorry,” Neil apologized, voice light. “I’m out of it this morning.”
Kevin shrugged. Andrew paid them no attention. Neil ate his breakfast and they went to the court together. During practice, no matter how many times Kevin scolded Neil, the striker didn’t reply. He kept looking off, a distant look deep on his face.
Near the end of practice, Dan finally stepped up to ask him if he was okay.
Neil looked at her, but it seemed more like he was looking through her. “It’s a weird day,” he commented, but said nothing else, continuing to run through the drills.
Practice ended and the day continued normally. The cousins talked and the car ride home was all average, though Neil’s absence from the conversation felt heavy. At lunch later that day, Nicky asked him a question that he did not hear, and no answer came. No one asked what was wrong, though. That seemed like a lacking question; a question that would not help Neil and was, therefore, not needed.
When it was getting late and everyone but Kevin and Andrew left the room, Neil didn’t move from his spot on the couch. He stared emptily at the television. Andrew eventually stood in front of him.
“Come on,” Andrew said, and Neil followed without complaint or question. Andrew led him into the bathroom, where it seemed like the bath had just recently been filled. Neil looked at the water, looked at Andrew, raised a brow.
“Get in, it’s late.”
And like that, Neil stripped, unashamed. He stepped into the hot warmth of the tub, letting it wrap around his legs and abdomen. Andrew stayed the whole time, watching with a lazy, uncaring expression. He took off his armbands and pushed his sleeves up to his elbows.
With a deeply bored tone, he asked, “Yes or no?”
Neil looked at him, tilted his head then gave a nod. When it was clear Andrew wouldn’t move until verbal consent, Neil managed to scrap out a reluctant, “yes.”
With quick yet careful hands, Andrew washed Neil’s hair. He also poured soap on a washcloth and slapped it into Neil’s hands, indicating he wash himself. Neil hummed shortly in acknowledgement before rubbing it under his arms and over his chest, lathering without much care. Behind him, Andrew was rinsing out the soap of conditioner, his fingers meticulous and lovely.
They spoke more through actions than words, and Neil felt it in each subtle touch, each brush of pleasure against his scalp. He closed his eyes for a minute, or maybe ten, before he felt water being flicked at his face. He looked up.
Andrew had set clean clothes beside the tub. “Get dressed.”
And so Neil dressed while Andrew went back to the room, getting changed into his own clothes for bed. Admittedly, Neil was feeling much better than he had all day, though the lingering effect of the prior night’s nightmare still pushed him to silence. It had been the worst in a long, long time, and the shock of it had been unsettling. Too real, too raw. And he knew Andrew understood it very well - it was likely why he didn’t bother asking what happened, but had nonetheless stayed near him all day in silent support.
In the room, dry and clean, Neil absentmindedly and quietly began the climb into his bed.
From behind him, Andrew said, “No.” Neil looked. The other was indicating him to come over, and so Neil did. Andrew got into the bed and looked at him expectedly. As if he were telling him to follow. Very slowly, the younger of the two turned off the light and climbed in, body sliding in beneath the blanket.
He could feel Andrew’s body heat beside him, a solid indent in the mattress, and something in him warmed and expanded. He relaxed against the pillow, a long exhalation passing between pale lips.
After a minute or so, Neil reached his hand between them to find Andrew’s hand already there, lying open lazily in that small space. After shortly hesitating, he laced his fingers through Andrew’s, then closed them tight on his knuckles.
A few moments later, Andrew did the same.
They fell asleep to the room’s quietness, holding hands, and the next morning Neil woke up smiling and talkative.
When Neil’s sophomore year began, he and Andrew began sleeping together much more often. It was becoming enough of a problem that Kevin constantly complained about it, and the two constantly ignored those complaints.
With exy practices, classes, and the sudden influx of homework and stress, Neil found himself craving that short bit of midnight peace in Andrew’s bed. And Andrew let him every time, verbally consenting in a monotone.
It was around the third or fourth week of the fall semester when they began to touch more in bed. No longer did they just lay beside each other. Unless it was a bad night for Andrew, they held hands, and eventually, they held one another. Neil sometimes laid his head on Andrew’s chest, or Andrew sometimes curled around Neil’s back. One time, on a very particular day, with an oddly deep amount of affection and kisses, Andrew even let Neil hold him from behind.
It didn’t happen often, but it was nice, and it built their trust. And if Kevin saw them in the morning, limbs intertwined, he learned the hard way not to comment on it.
Late one October day, the autumn weather settling in, they were met with the consequences of nightmares.
Neil was sleeping with his head on Andrew’s chest, his hand resting against his hip and one leg crossed over one of Andrew’s legs. The warmth and silence was interrupted by a sudden rustling. Andrew moved in his sleep, not a lot, but enough to wake Neil. The boy blinked, drowsy, head still on his boyfriend’s chest. When Andrew stirred again, Neil lifted his head slightly, turning to look at the other.
“Wha-?” It was only a murmured, lazed inquiry, but he could barely get it out before Andrew jerked awake. Leaving no time for Neil to react, the haze of darkness forced Andrew to forget that it was only Neil that was touching him. In the breath of a moment, he leaned up, wound back his arm, and hit Neil in the face with a strong, determined fist.
The strength of it whipped Neil back, and since he refused to touch Andrew in this state, he didn’t try to hold on as his body fell painfully off the bed. His head hit the corner of the dresser that acted as a nightstand.
He let out a low, hurt groan before clumsily trying to get up. Kevin was up, cursing and fumbling for the light. It flickered on, and the room was quiet.
Then Neil got to his feet and looked at Kevin. “Can you get him some water?”
Kevin frowned. “Worry about yourself, Neil,” he replied, before leaving the room.
Confused, Neil turned back to Andrew, who was staring at Neil with an unbearable intensity. Neil looked back, eyebrows furrowed in worry. “Are you okay?”
The anger was immediate. “Shut the fuck up,” Andrew replied, and his voice was laced with venom. His gaze was roaming Neil’s face, and it took a second, but Neil finally realized that there was blood dripping from his nose and collecting onto his shirt.
Andrew’s rage was for himself. He was shaking, blond hair slightly slicked with sweat.
Neil lifted the bottom of his shirt to wipe his nose. It could be broken, but he wasn’t thinking of the pain as much as he was thinking of Andrew’s face, twisted into something… remorseful.
With an icy demeanor, Andrew lifted himself off the bed. He didn’t look at Neil. Just grabbed a jacket, shoes, his wallet and keys, walking to the door. Neil stared after him for a few short seconds before following, passing a questioning Kevin in the kitchen.
Andrew was walking downstairs. Neil followed, calling out. “Andrew, wait! It’s three in the morning!” There was no reply. “I’ll… I’ll sleep in my own bed.” He didn’t say sorry, though it was right on his tongue. He practically swallowed the response, knowing Andrew would hate it more than anything else.
Andrew was nearing his car when Neil came up behind him, keeping a distance. “At least have some water - you’re sweating all over,” Neil said. Andrew unlocked the door, and did not look up.
“Don’t go,” Neil said, using it as a last resort of concern and desperation. His voice neared begging. Dried blood coated his nose and lips.
Andrew got in the car and left.
And Neil, still somehow hopeful, had assumed it would be a one night thing. He had trudged back upstairs and slept on the couch, waiting for the other’s return. But morning came and no one was home. Friday passed with no word. And then Saturday. Two full days with nothing. Neil finally ignored his decision to give Andrew space and sent him a short text. Still, no reply came.
He could feel his chest shriveling up, heart clenching with every single passing minute until it felt like everything inside him was numb. He needed to know that Andrew was okay, but there was no way of knowing. He choked on it, feeling this absolute dreadful worry eat him alive.
He hadn’t eaten all Saturday, and when Sunday morning rolled around without word, his body felt cold. He’d barely slept all night, only catching an hour or two, and his head pounded with a migraine. He hadn’t known that something like this could make him feel so sick, and yet here he was, fidgeting and fretting over Andrew’s safety, mental health, and their sudden and ugly separation.
Afternoon rolled around, and the walls were painted orange as the sun began its descent.
Neil had his chin in his hand, elbow on the couch’s armrest, gaze staring out the window. He imagined Andrew sitting there, smoking a cigarette, and quickly begged in his mind that the shorter of the two was okay and well.
A few minutes later, the suite door opened and clicked shut. Neil knew it was Kevin, and he didn’t turn his head to check. He continued staring out the window, eyes tired, body numb.
A presence sat beside him on the couch, and a familiar scent washed over him, overwhelming his senses. Neil turned, facing Andrew, who looked stony and expressionless.
“And you always thought I’d be the runaway,” Neil said, and while he wanted his voice to come out sarcastic and bitter, it just fell flat. Raw.
Andrew lifted his hands, and asked, very simply, “Yes or no?” His voice sounded raw, too.
Neil did not hesitate. “Yes.”
Softly, Andrew lifted his palms until he was cupping Neil’s face. He inspected his nose, which had a tiny bandage crossed over the bridge. It hadn’t been broken, thankfully.
“It was a bad nightmare,” Andrew told him, and it sounded strangely like an apology.
Neil blinked at him. “Are you okay now?”
He thought Andrew wouldn’t answer, but the goalkeeper eventually gave a short nod. There was nothing in his face that gave away what he was thinking, but his hands felt cold, and his eyes looked tired.
Neil hadn’t realized it before, but he was shaking. He felt himself now, trembling between Andrew’s hands. He forced himself still, but as his head pointed down in defeat and he stared at his own palms in his lap, he could see that the shaking wouldn’t stop.
He said, speaking to his hands instead of Andrew, “You can’t do that.” He was whispering now. Pained. “You can’t just… leave.”
Andrew’s voice gave nothing away. “I can’t?”
Neil shook his head, but the hands on his cheeks remained. “No. You can’t.”
It was quiet for a bit. Andrew (being too gentle, too cautious, too unlike himself - perhaps to make up for it in his own strange way) tucked a piece of Neil’s hair behind his ear before eventually dropping his hands. He still sat facing Neil.
After a short while, he replied. “Then I won’t.”
Neil smiled and lifted his head. He looked at Andrew, taking his fill. “You look tired.”
“Look in a mirror.”
They got comfortable, bundled themselves in blankets, and watched the beginning of a movie. When Kevin got home later, he found them asleep side by side on the couch, Andrew’s head rested on Neil’s shoulder.