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“That's entirely too many marshmallows, Drew.”
Andrew looked up from the fireplace he had been staring at for the last half hour to the ginger sat in the armchair beside him. Neil had placed the mug of cocoa in his hands about 5 minutes ago and, despite being the one to make said mug, was now complaining about the veritable mountain of marshmallows atop his drink. He glanced down at the slowly melting mass then back up at Neil and took a very slow, deliberate drink from the mug.
Years ago, Kevin had showed Neil some recipe for something he called French cocoa and ever since, Neil made it every winter at least once a week. It was thick and creamy, delicious on all fronts, and Andrew thought it was far heavier a drink than Neil would indulge in, let alone something Kevin would endorse, but here they were. He looked up at Neil as he lowered the mug and licked the frothy marshmallow and chocolate concoction from his lips before directing his gaze back to the fire.
Above him, Neil scoffed, nudged his shoulder with a knee, and took his own sip. He let out a luxuriating sigh, quiet for a moment before ruining the peace again with more commentary.
“I'm just saying, with the amount of chocolate and sugar already in that cocoa, your mountain of marshmallows is overkill. It’s a miracle you aren't a diabetic risk by now.”
Andrew didn't bother responding to that, didn't deign it necessary. Let Neil worry himself stupid and sick, so long as he didn't interfere with his sweets or his winter norms, he could say whatever.
This was a mistake.
Not even 48 hours later, all of Andrew's chocolates, cookies, Christmas crackers, even his fucking eggnog was gone.
Neil, apparently, in all his wisdom and overthinking, had called Abby to discuss what to do and the solution he somehow got from Abby's “Neil he's fine. Let him be. His labs all come back normal” was to toss every ounce of unnecessary sugar that kept Andrew sane and moderately pleased. Were it not for the chance of Kevin's bitching and the ache that tried to take hold at the thought of losing Neil, Andrew would have surely strangled him and left him for dead in a ditch somewhere. Instead, he simply closed the empty cabinet, turned on his thickly socked heel, and headed to the front door to tug on his boots.
And he would give Neil credit, the man could read Andrew well and fast now. He saw Neil’s little satisfied smile flicker and the corners of his mouth drop as he walked past, felt the man on his heels immediately, and knew the question that would leave his lips before he got it out.
“Where are you—”
“The store.”
A pause. Neil was thinking. Andrew was shrugging his coat on and tugging his hat down over his shortly cropped hair.
“You're angry about the sweets.”
“Now, why would I be angry about that, Junkie?”
Neil recoiled as if Andrew had slapped him. In reality, he simply looked up at him with a bright, terrifying smile. Then it was gone, and he turned to grab his keys from the bowl they kept on the little table Nicky insisted they needed.
“I just—”
“Don't.”
He heard the sharp snap of Neil’s teeth clicking together as his mouth shut, followed by the sound of his hand dropping back to his side.
“It's fine. I will be back.”
When Andrew opened the door an hour later carrying a small bag filled with snacks, it was to smoke, the smell of burnt chocolate pastries, and angered muttering coming from their kitchen. He took his time disassembling his winter attire. Placed his coat on the hook, hat in the pocket, dropped his boots by the door onto the shoe rack and his keys back into the bowl. The tinkling sound finally seemed to catch the attention of the grumbling man in the kitchen, who stopped and rushed to the arched entryway leading into the kitchen and peeked out into the connecting hallway.
He had flour in his curls, a smudge of something dark brown high on his cheek, and his fingers where they curled around the frame of the archway were covered in band-aids. Andrew felt his heart thud in his chest, but refused to let it show on his face. He stayed carefully neutral and blank.
“You're home.”
“I said I would be, Josten.”
“It took you an hour.”
“I needed to… doesn't matter. What have you burned?”
Neil had the sense to look embarrassed, his freckled cheeks had turned a pretty shade of berry red, and he glanced back into the kitchen before sighing and stepping out into the hallway properly.
“Come look …”
Andrew grabbed his bag, internally braced himself for the disastrous state of his kitchen, and stepped into a bake shop war zone. Flour was everywhere; the floor, the ceiling, the sink had a pile of dishes, the oven was still running but seemed to have a gelatinous sludge in a pan within. There were wrappers of chocolate bars, packages of flour and sugar, cartons of milk and cream and butter all scattered on every available surface and Andrew didn't think he could possibly be more irritated and in love than he was in that very moment.
“I tried to replace your stuff, but you took the car, so I called Nicky, and he couldn't find your little cakes and shit, so I wanted to make them so he brought me stuff, but I have no idea—”
Andrew held up a hand, silencing Neil instantly. He slowly turned to face the ginger, something almost warm in his gaze, and Neil swallowed thickly. Andrew didn't look like he was going to kill him, but then again, Andrew didn't often give warning before he struck.
“You threw away my snacks.”
Andrew stepped closer, Neil stepped back.
“Erm… yes?”
Another pair of steps. Neil was getting closer to the wall, and Andrew had lowered the bag of treats to the floor.
“And then you felt bad.”
“Definitely. You were upset.”
Step. Step. Thunk. The wall was at Neil's back now, solid and impossible for him to get away through.
“And so you tried to replace them.”
“I did. I planned on cleaning the kitchen?”
Andrew stepped up to Neil the final time he needed in order to be toe to toe with him. Neil looked down at him with those big, pretty blue eyes full of confusion, apprehension, and something akin to hope. Andrew stared back with a carefully blank face. Then he slowly began to reach up, and Neil slipped his hands behind his back to hold them in place between his warm body and the wall.
“You, Neil Josten,” Andrew began, hand finally finding its place on Neil's cheek to cup his jaw and swipe at the smudge on his cheek. Chocolate cake batter, it seemed, “are an idiot.”
Then, in a turn that Neil definitely didn't see coming, Andrew pulled him down by the collar and crushed their lips together. It was brief, but it was enough. It spoke volumes where Andrew didn't. It told Neil that he hadn't royally fucked everything up with his overzealous worry and stupidity.
“Clean my kitchen… then I will show you how to make them.”
Neil blinked slowly at him, slightly stunned from the kiss and brain refusing to catch on to the words for a moment. Then he grinned, pressed a soft and chaste kiss to Andrew's lips, and slipped out from between him and the wall.
“On it. This is gonna be the best Christmas ever.”