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It was Saturday evening at Palmetto State University, South Carolina in 2007. Andrew and Neil were crammed onto their singular beanbag as they watched re-runs of Smallville on their brand new box TV. Courtesy of Jean Moreau and his infamous mental breakdown that summer, Kevin had finally caved and bought a new TV for their dorm with the promise that they would use it sparingly (and mostly for streaming previous games). Andrew had been watching anything and everything since then, with none of them being Exy related, out of pure spite. Neil mostly zoned out or asked Andrew banal questions based on whatever was happening on the screen. Right now, Tom Welling was in class and Neil couldn’t help but think about how different things would have been if he had met Andrew when they were both teenagers. He wondered what Andrew was like back then. He rarely asked him questions surrounding California because he knew it was still a fresh wound and so he tried to find a harmless topic he could broach.
“What were you good at?” Neil absentmindedly murmured beside him. At Andrew’s blank stare, Neil clarified—”I mean, in High School.”
“Theft.”
Neil waited and a few beats of silence passed before he realised Andrew wasn’t going to give him a serious answer. Neil flicked his forehead. Hard. Andrew turned to him and the answering death glare could have melted steel. Neil simply gazed at him (kind of amused and maybe a little turned on). Neil knew physical violence wouldn’t actually get Andrew to answer his question but he did know it would get his attention.
Neil said, “I enjoyed Maths. The snatched lessons I had of it anyways. It was sort of comforting having a list of questions in front of me and the repetition that came with solving them. A singular answer every time. My mother neglected it during our homeschooling beyond basic calculations. She said advanced mathematics had nothing to do with my survival as long as I could count. I tried to tell her I simply liked it. She said it was a waste of time.”
“You are studying it at Palmetto State University. She is dead.”
Neil didn’t dignify that with a response. It was callous and unnecessary and so extremely Andrew. But he also knew it was his way of providing comfort—in the sick, twisted way only a boy raised like Andrew Minyard could. The fact that Andrew even tried felt like a warm pool in Neil’s chest. He didn’t know what emotion was brimming in his eyes but Andrew’s warm fingers clasped his chin in a firm grip.
“Stop that.”
He always did this when Neil seemed on the verge of a mental breakdown. It helped most of the time, to pull him from the edge and back to safety. Safety with Andrew. His hazel eyes were firm and unyielding. Neil knew how relentless the blonde-haired man was. He had claimed to have given up several years ago but that was easily disproven by the countless times Andrew succumbed to anger, the ferocity in which he protected the cousins, the nights they spent on the roof together, the way Neil noticed him planning ahead—proof he saw a future for them. He believed in this. He believed in them. This reminder only made the feeling worse. The warm pool in his chest quickly ignited into a fiery need.
“She is…at rest now.” The cliche comfort phrase sounded unnatural and awkward coming out of Andrew’s mouth. Neil realised Andrew thought he was distraught about memories of his mother and so he was trying to comfort him. Andrew Minyard was the farthest thing from a psychopath. Neil couldn’t help but think.
“I don’t care about that.” Neil clarified with a shake of his head. At Andrew’s raised brow, Neil realised how ruthless his words sounded.
“You are colder than I realised, Neil. What would your teammates say right now if they could hear you.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Neil huffed and pulled Andrew closer with a tug of his shirt sleeve. Andrew was now so close, their hips were pressed against one another and their faces were inches apart. “I wasn’t thinking about her. I was thinking about us. About you.”
“Touching.”
“You pretend to be heartless but you looked so worried just then. You care about me. You care for me.”
“Next time you have a panic attack, I will walk away.”
“No you won’t.”
Andrew stared at him. Unimpressed.
Neil was looking at him with the stupidest expression Andrew had ever seen. Those gigantic, blue eyes were staring up at him ridiculously. Lovesick fool. He should walk away—just to prove a point. Leave him here looking all helpless and confused. Andrew pictures it for a moment and much to his dismay, it doesn’t give him the satisfaction he was hoping it would. Neil would likely assume he had upset Andrew. The thought almost made him shiver. No, he had to stay here and face this head on. Andrew leaned in just to hear Neil’s breath stutter against him. He got as close as he could to Neil’s lips, without actually kissing him. Neil already sounded dazed as he murmured something about the door not being locked. Andrew ignored him.
He ran his hands through Neil’s soft auburn hair and pressed hard lips to his. If it wasn’t for the heat emanating from the firm body underneath him or the way Neil hummed against his lips, he would have dismissed this all as another dream. This was worse than dreaming. This was more real than anything Andrew had felt before and that terrified him. The feel of Neil’s scarred skin against Andreil’s rough, calloused hands. Those deep grooves on either side of his rare smile. His soft and steady breaths as he slept. It should have all been a bore after countless days and endless nights. They had counted every star, travelled to every corner of their little world and driven on every highway in North America. Yet, Andrew’s favourite sight was this. Neil Josten all to himself. Andrew let his lips travel down and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. Another one beneath it.
Neil hummed. “I like that.”
“I don’t care.” Andrew kissed that spot again.
He kissed it one more time. Just to be sure. He heard Neil murmur his name and Andrew shifted up so he was hovering over him.
“What is wrong?” Andrew asked.
“Nothing.” Neil put his hands through Andrew’s hair and pulled him closer. “I just want to see you.”
Andrew tried his best to look unimpressed. He hoped it was working. His knee was slotted between Neil’s thighs and Andrew could feel his length pressing against him, hard and urgent. He was planning on taking care of it with his mouth but Neil was looking at him like he’d die if Andrew broke eye contact for even a second so he resigned himself with the new task of eye tag. Andrew decided to take the time to appreciate all the little details of Neil’s face he doesn’t get to linger on during their quick and messy stolen moments together between practices and classes and games and movie nights. Andrew can’t help but lean in and kiss Neil’s scarred cheeks. The ridges are so familiar to him from all the times he has held Neil’s face but it feels so different on his lips. The sensation is sharper, brighter, clearer. He feels Neil’s cheek twitch a nearly indistinguishable amount from a smile he’s holding back. Neil still hasn’t learnt how to smile without digging fingers into the side of his face. Andrew hadn’t smiled since that Californian July all those years when the lady at the desk gave his social worker the papers to his first foster home. They were so broken. It is just a smile. Andrew gritted out to Neil in annoyance one day when he felt him holding back. He wanted to see it. He felt possessive over it. They would not take this from him too. But Andrew had realised how selfish it was to ask for it from Neil when he knew he would never reciprocate. So he tabled that argument.
“Did I lose you?” Neil asked, gazing up at him, noticing Andrew’s distraction.
“I’m right here.” Andrew murmured into his cheek before kissing it again. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Another kiss. Then another. He pressed a kiss on the delicate, gossamer skin beneath Neil’s eyes, which were fluttered shut. He gently kissed his eyelids before moving to his forehead. He kissed Neil’s temple, inhaling his scent. Andrew stayed like that for what felt like forever. He felt Neil dozing off and so Andrew changed his position so he was against the beanbag and Neil was curled on top of him—his head nestled in the crease of Andrew’s neck. His eyes felt heavy and he could feel himself drifting off to sleep. They would regret this tomorrow when their muscles ached from sleeping on the lumpy beanbag but that was tomorrow’s problem.
“English. I liked the stories."
Andrew thought Neil was fast asleep but his lips twitched slightly at the confession. The sleepy, approving hum he gave Andrew was more irritating than anything else.
“‘Night, Andrew.” He mumbled into his neck.
Andrew ignored him of course, but he couldn’t suppress the slight shiver at the warm breath on his skin.