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Neil Abram Josten is currently a man with a clear, albeit somewhat dreamy, goal. After wandering around for two years without any specific purpose, he lived his own well-established routine, which he now intended to break. Now, entering a reading room and café, the first place he came across on the corner of a charming street.
It seemed cosy and warm with its wooden display, charming name (“Foxhole”) and quiet but sincere laughter coming from inside. The interior of the café, partially covered by semi-transparent white curtains, was inviting with its homely atmosphere, and the small white and orange roof above the window caught the eye from across the street.
Neil immediately realised that this was the place he had been unconsciously searching for all morning. As he entered, he was struck by quiet music from several, if not a dozen or so, years ago. He only vaguely recognised a few notes as he approached the bar, behind which stood a gently smiling girl with white hair, the ends dyed in bright colours.
He thought he could dye his hair – this time differently: the colour and style he wanted.
“May I take your order?” the girl asks him, as if she were genuinely interested in what coffee Neil would choose. Even he himself is not interested, so he asks her for anything that is not too sweet.
The girl (according to her name tag, “Renee”) prepares tea with a dose of spices and citrus. Neil doesn't care, politely thanks her for the tea, leaves a tip, and he head to the table occupied by a blond man dressed entirely in black. He noticed him while waiting for his coffee. He was typing slowly on his laptop, without any particular emotion, yet he seemed to Neil like a man who knows exactly what he wants, someone who does not hesitate or allow others to hesitate.
Neil decided that this was the man he was looking for.
When he placed the steaming cup on the table and then sat down, the blond man looked up at him with bored eyes. Neil could easily have compared the features of his eyes and eyebrows to those of a Fallen Angel, if it weren't for the cut on one of his eyebrows.
“Hi,” Neil tries, because that's what he's decided to do. Today is a day of trials and efforts. He smiles as broadly as his sincerity allows, certain that the smile is, despite everything, a little sharp. ‘I'm Neil, and...’ He tilts his head slightly, playing with his teaspoon before speaking. “And... I thought I'd like to try with you, yes or no?”
The blond man is silent for a long moment. His facial expression does not change as he studies Neil's face. He is sure that the boy can hear Neil (still full of energy) stomping melodically on the wooden floorboards.
“Try.” He repeats the word, as if testing it. There is no question in it, yet Neil explains, gesturing slightly.
“I want to try something new today. A few things I've never done before. Like... drawing, driving a car or... watching the stars.” The stranger listens to him carefully. “I think you're the perfect person to do these things with me. You seem to be the perfect person.”
The blond man stared at him intently, still not responding. Neil tilted his head slightly, glancing briefly at his tea before pointing his scarred finger at the boy's notebook.
“Can I borrow a piece of paper and a pen?” he asked simply. The blond man moved calmly and slowly, as if he had plenty of time. He casually tore off a sheet of paper, tossing it carelessly towards Neil, and then did the same with a pen. Neil smiled gently. “I'll be at another table until I leave. If you want to join me, feel free.”
And then, taking the borrowed items (which he would probably never return) and his tea with him, he went to another, lonely table. He took a sip of tea and then grimaced at the overpowering citrus flavour, but did not remove the orange with cloves stuck in it. He scribbled something at the top right of the page.
‘SILLY DREAMS TO FULFILL,’ and then, a little crookedly underneath:
‘DYE MY HAIR HOWEVER I WANT; DRIVE A CAR (HOPEFULLY A NICE ONE); SEE THE STARS; KEEP YOUR MEMORIES (BUY A CAMERA)’.
Neil pondered the list – consisting of a proud twelve items – for quite a long time, though short considering his problems with writing and reading. He folded the piece of paper carefully and tucked it into the pocket of his faded, light-coloured jeans before getting up from the table with the intention of leave the café and head towards an old antique shop he had seen on the way.
As he opened the glass door of the café, he noticed a dark shadow beside him. He glanced out of the corner of his eye to see a blond man who, with his indifferent, uncompromising attitude, stand beside him after leaving the café.
“You decided?” Neil asked him with a gentle smile before slowly walking towards a brick building he had almost overlooked.
“Yes.” And Neil, somehow knowing that this referred to the previous question, broadened his smile.
“I don't know your name, do you have one?”
“Andrew.”
“Can I call you Drew?”
“No.”
“Hm,” he kicked a small pebble on the road. “Alright, do you know ‘Forgotten Corner’”? We're going to need a camera, for memory.” He informed Andrew. “Any camera will do, as long as it's not black and white.”
“Memory,” he repeated.
“Mhm, memories, postcards, photos.”
Neil smiled before pushing open the heavy wooden door of the old building. The door creaked loudly, as if it hadn't been opened in a very long time, and Neil had to think for a moment whether the place was actually open. However, the old man behind the counter, reading a newspaper, did not chase them away, but only looked up and then muttered a few words under his grey moustache.
Andrew walked off in a direction only known to himself, so Neil did the same – he looked at a lot of things, from old, dusty books to strange glass and wooden figurines; ugly, tasteless jewellery; crooked porcelain; and postcards so old that they were tearing at the edges.
He didn't intend to buy much – he still had a problem with collecting trinkets – yet a few minutes later, Neil was standing by a short but wide wall, looking at items that he mostly didn't need, but which somehow caught his attention.
He bought one of those old, shabby postcards from Palmetto. The card was (at least once) deep blue, with a white palm tree on the right and a slanted “Wish you were here” on the left.
The second item was an old but still silver key on a string, which seemed so homely that Neil hung it around his neck almost immediately after leaving the shop.
It was obvious that he had bought a handy digital camera with awful orange, scratched stickers on it. Still, it worked, so Neil wasn't going to complain.
The last thing was a plain leather photo album (it was only after leaving the antique shop that Andrew told him that the camera wouldn't print photos). Neil put a postcard, a tea receipt and a folded wish list inside.
Neil played with the camera, trying to figure out what all the buttons were for, while Andrew put the things he had bought into a (naturally) black bag: a book of some sort; a lighter that barely worked; a thick, translucent bracelet with fish on it; and a kitschy fox figurine, which the boy looked at for a long moment.
Neil watched Andrew for a moment before instinctively raising his camera and clicking the main button. The photo didn't turn out perfectly, but he liked it. He guessed he would have to find someone to print it for him later, but it would be worth it.
“What’s next, old man?”
Neil smiled at him before heading towards the centre, where he hoped to find his target. They walked side by side for a few minutes, sometimes listening to the conversations of people passing by, sometimes to the sounds of animals, and sometimes to their own voices as they learned more about each other.
“If I could be any animal, I'd probably be a cat.” Neil glanced at a ginger kitten sitting on a windowsill, playing with a fern. He took two photos because the first one came out blurry. ‘For no particular reason, cats are brilliant.’
A moment passes before Neil hears Andrew's rough voice. “A jellyfish, probably.”
“Why that?”
Another moment of silence, then: “They have no brains, hearts or lungs, yet they are resourceful thanks to their distributed nervous system.”
Andrew looks at Neil, who wrinkles his nose slightly before smiling more broadly. “I was planning to go to the aquarium, do you think the nearest one has jellyfish?”
“No.”
“Hmm,” Neil thinks for a moment. “We'll go where they are, then.”
̶”K̶E̶EP̶ ̶Y̶O̶U̶R̶ ̶M̶E̶M̶O̶R̶I̶E̶S̶ ̶(̶B̶U̶Y̶ ̶A̶ ̶C̶A̶M̶E̶R̶A̶)̶”
•
Neil hands the camera to Andrew – mainly due to his own ineptitude, he gives him complete free rein. They end up on a street which (as they learn from an elderly lady) is called Artists' Street. All the buildings are painted in different colours – from yellow to purple.
The street is actually a market, open until late. He carefully examines all the stalls, looking for something that could help him fulfil his dreams, or something that might interest him or Drew.
Neil stops at an alarming number of stalls, and Andrew stops with him without a word, looking at the variety with varying degrees of attention. He doesn't seem interested in any of the items, but he watches as Neil shows him various objects.
He looks at bracelets with various precious stones that seem to have some meaning – here and there was even write down what they mean, but Neil doesn't care that much until he catch sight of some honey-brown jewellery.
It consists of small, round beads of the same repeating colour on a brown string with an adjustable clasp. ‘Tiger's Eye. Courage, protection from evil, self-confidence,’ reads the note. He picks up the bracelet and shows it to Andrew.
“It's a similar colour to your eyes.” Andrew glances at the bracelet, then looks back at the stall.
Neil doesn't put the bracelet down, browsing through other stones, sometimes smiling at their silly meanings. He looks at Andrew to tell him about the properties of a black stone, at the same time as the boy shows him a light blue bracelet identical in design to Neil's.
“Aquamarine.” Neil looks for this stone on the cards.
‘Relieves stress, anxiety and phobias; calmness; harmony,’ the card says. Neil smiles at the boy cheerfully and sincerely. Neither of them comments when, after buying the bracelets, they are not exchanged to match the colour of their eyes.
Neil manages to buy some sparklers, a packet of biscuits and a simple jellyfish keyring (which goes to Andrew along with the sweets) before he find what he was looking for. He stop at a young boy playing on stage in the gazebo. The piano resounds throughout the neighbourhood, playing the first notes of Billy Joel.
Neil never had the opportunity to stop and listen to the city music, played for the sake of playing, not for money. When he was on the run, he could never stop for more than five seconds before being pulled away again, and then when he stopped running, he wasn't interested in other people for a long time because he was struggling with constant paranoia.
He smiles gently but honestly before turning to Drew. He looks at Neil intently, seemingly oblivious to the young man's incredible performance and the people around him dancing freely to the street musician's music. Neil nudges him playfully before asking, “Would you like to dance?”
“I don't dance.” Neil pouts, pretending to be sad when he hears an amused snort next to him.
“You can dance with us.” A girl in a headscarf speaks to him, holding out her hand.
Actually, he doesn't dance either: he never had a talent for it, and dancing (especially so badly) attracted attention, despite that. Today was a day of rehearsals, a day of living like a normal boy. The people around him danced without caring about the glances, which were faint anyway, so...
Neil accepts it with a slight smile, first making sure with Andrew that it's okay to leave him here.
He spin freely among the people, sometimes singing the more familiar verses. The musician, as if experienced in playing on stage for everyone, moves freely from one song to another, and Neil slowly loses track of time. He often glances at Andrew, who is standing in the same place, looking at Neil.
Neil returns to him breathlessly when he feels his knee (damaged by a sad past) making itself felt. Despite the slight pain, he smiles so widely that his jaw hurts. Giggling quietly, he approaches the blond man after giving the musician some small change.
“You look awful,” He comment to Andrew. “Can you even stand?”
“You'll have to carry me,” he sighs dramatically, though it doesn't sound convincing with his smile still playing.
Andrew just sighs. “What's next, tiny dancer?”
“How about the aquarium?”
“ ̶L̶I̶S̶T̶E̶N̶ ̶T̶O̶ ̶A̶ ̶S̶T̶R̶E̶E̶T̶ ̶M̶U̶S̶I̶C̶I̶A̶N̶” AND DANCE!
•
It turns out that Andrew has a car – a very nice car that looks very expensive. He found out that it came from the life insurance policy of his “mother”, who died in a car accident.
“Apparently she had to be dead to be worth anything,” Andrew tells him, and Neil smiles amusedly, even though he knows it's no joke.
“Sometimes that's how some people are,” Neil replies, still rummaging through the glove compartment in search of the perfect CD to play. “Mostly family.”
After these words, Andrew seems to open up to him more, tapping his fingers freely on the steering wheel to the rhythm of the song, even though he says Neil has terrible taste. Guess he's a descendant of Pinocchio. He answers Neil's silly questions in relatively complete sentences, and then, when he remembers that ‘driving a car’ is on the list, they switch places for a moment.
Neil almost causes an accident. He can drive, he learned when he was twelve, but he's not prepared for a huge moose in the middle of the road that appears out of nowhere. It's really only Andrew's composure that keeps them here, and Neil, seeing the boy's subsequent frown, tries not to joke about it so often.
“Hey, but you can't say moose don't look scary... This one was particularly skinny and…” The music is turned up, and Neil smiles involuntarily.
“ ̶D̶R̶I̶V̶E̶ ̶A̶ ̶C̶A̶R̶ ̶(̶N̶O̶ ̶E̶S̶C̶A̶P̶I̶N̶G̶)̶” NEVER AGAIN.
•
The aquarium takes Neil's breath away. He looks around for stingrays, fish, sharks and crabs, lingering at each tank longer than he really should. He often glances at Andrew, who seems a little more interested than usual.
Neil pretends that it's taking them so long because of the size of the facility. But at least he got to pet a stingray.
He steals Andrew's camera several times, taking pictures of the sea creatures that interest him most, sometimes pointing the lens at the blond boy. At first, he tried to read all the descriptions, but gave up a little when he couldn't read the more difficult words. He wondered if it would have been better to get a guide when Andrew stood next to him to read the sign quietly, and then each subsequent one.
Neil listened to the boy attentively, then stayed in the jellyfish tank as long as Andrew wanted, quietly asking for more interesting facts about these creatures.
It could have been just the light, but he was sure he saw a hint of a smile on the boy's face. He didn't comment. While Andrew watched the creatures that fascinated him so much, Neil wandered around, taking photos, looking at and scribbling on the map of the facility, and chatting to people about the bizarre but cool hats and windmills.
After the last tank, Neil grabbed the boy's hand, intertwining their fingers to pull him to the spot where he knew the fun stuff was. The hats, or rather paper headbands, had different designs: turtles, shells, octopuses. The small windmills actually only came in one blue variant, but that didn't stop Neil from giving it to Andrew, along with a yellow octopus headband.
He also found a children's book about sea creatures and a beautiful edition of The Little Mermaid, which he bought secretly when Andrew wasn't looking and then hid in the bag he was carrying. He pulled the boy to the last attraction, which was a photo booth.
“This is stupid,” muttered the blond boy, sitting down hip to hip.
“It's not. What's stupid is that you don't want to wear your headband,” he replied casually, setting up the photos.
“You're stupid too, and you look ridiculous.”
“I'm doing great, thank you.”
The machine displayed a countdown, and Neil, fascinated by it at first, just watched. When the machine flashed, he smiled slightly, putting his hands in a peace sign.
“God.” He heard next to him, and after another blink of the machine, he began to chuckle, looking at Andrew, who returned the look. “Ridiculous.”
The machine blinked again. Neil decided it was sad to have photos in only one position, so he moved his arm so that it was around Andrew without touching him, held out his hand in a peace sign, brought his face close to Andrew's, and stuck out his tongue as if he wanted to lick him.
“And disgusting. Ridiculous and disgusting.” Neil laughed cheerfully again.
“It's a photo booth, you're supposed to make funny faces, right?” Andrew looked at him empty. “Are you giving me free will?”
“Some limits.” Neil nodded before restarting the machine. He took off his blindfold, knowing it would get in the way.
When the booth started counting down, he pressed his cheek against Andrew's, keeping a slight distance at first so the boy could decide if it was okay. Blink.
Then he wrapped his arms lightly around his neck, fidgeting gently. Andrew rolled his eyes but didn't pull away, and Neil smiled at him. Blink.
Neil gently placed his hand on Andrew's far cheek, closer to his jaw, as if cupping it, bringing his face closer to Andrew's, before pressing a gentle kiss to the boy's cheek with a blink.
The last photo was in a similar position, except that instead of kissing him, Neil gently licked his pale skin with a smile. Andrew grimaced, gently pulling his face away, and Neil laughed.
“Disgusting,’” he repeated.
“‘It looks stupid,” he said, looking through the photos.
“You look almost the same in every one,” Neil smiled, seeing the last two photos. “Except for these.”
“Fuck off.” Neil grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the exit. “What's next, Mr. Krabs?”
̶"̶G̶O̶ ̶T̶O̶ ̶T̶H̶E̶ ̶O̶C̶E̶A̶N̶A̶R̶I̶U̶M̶.̶ ̶T̶A̶K̶E̶ ̶A̶ ̶P̶H̶O̶T̶O̶ ̶I̶N̶ ̶T̶H̶E̶ ̶P̶H̶O̶T̶O̶ ̶B̶O̶O̶T̶H̶.̶"̶
•
They were returning together at sunset, driving along the ocean, when one of those annoying songs that was nevertheless catchy came on the radio. Neil smiled involuntarily, clutching the torn faux leather strap of his bag, glancing at the spacious beach.
“Can we stop?” he asked suddenly, looking at the boy next to him.
Without a word, Andrew pulled over to the side of the road and then got out after Neil. He paused for a moment as Neil began to climb down the bushy but relatively flat cliff towards the beach.
‘You're an idiot,’ he said, but obediently began to descend with Neil, who suddenly slipped when the sand turned out to be softer than before.
He laughed briefly, tilting his head back to glance at Andrew, who was watching him closely. When they got closer to the sea, Neil crouched down to check how cold it was. He had never had the opportunity to swim in the ocean before, but there always has to be a first time, right?
He started to unzip his trousers when the boy behind him spoke.
“What do you think you're doing?” Neil glanced at him with a mischievous smile. “It's cold, and you'll get my seat wet.”
“It's not that cold,” he argued, slowly approaching Andrew. “I can wait until I dry off.”
‘You're an idiot,’ he repeated, and Neil broadened his smile, grabbing the edge of the blond's sweatshirt. ‘Neil.’
“I've never swum in the sea. I have rather negative associations with it,” he confessed, still remembering the bright flame in the endless night. “I'd like to change that... that memory, into something better. I'd like you to change it with me, yes or no?”
Andrew looked at him closely before taking a step back to remove his sweatshirt with a nimble movement. Neil couldn't help but smile as he unbuttoned his light, loose jeans. He was glad he had decided to wear a T-shirt under his checked shirt, over which he had put on another T-shirt.
He stripped down to his underwear, though he left that one T-shirt on. Andrew didn't seem to mind, staying in his black armbands. He waited for the boy to finish before taking his hand and walking towards the sunrise together.
The water reached Neil's calves when Andrew suddenly stopped with a quiet hiss through his teeth: “It's fucking cold.” Neil smiled innocently before slowly pulling the boy further along, goosebumps rising on his skin.
“The longer we stay in the water, the warmer it will get.”
“That's called hypothermia.”
“I can warm you up,” Neil offered, and Andrew paused again for a moment before pushing Neil hard enough to knock him off balance, landing him on his knees. “Ouch,” he felt a piercing cold.
He decided there was no point in getting up in the cold air, so he turned to sit opposite Andrew. He reached out his hand to him, as if asking for help to stand up, and when the boy grabbed it after a long pause, he pulled hard, quickly jumping to the side so that Andrew wouldn't bump into him.
He laughed when he saw the boy's grimace at the sudden cold, and then felt drops of water splashing on his face. He retaliated in kind, which turned into a short, watery battle that ended in a draw when Neil, carried too far, stepped on some seaweed that scared him enough to decide that Andrew's proximity was a better choice than continuing to move away from the splashing.
“That was disgusting,” he said to the boy, looking with disgust at the horizon of the sea. “Slimy, shouldn't the sea be made of sand?”
Andrew raised an eyebrow. “Tell the fish, maybe they'll remove it if you smile nicely enough.”
Neil smiled stupidly. They sat in the water a little longer until Andrew started complaining about wrinkles on his fingers — then they sat on the sand for a few minutes because Neil insisted on building at least the base of a sandcastle, which turned out extremely crooked.
Neil blamed Andrew for this, who had only commented on Neil's actions instead of helping him.
They changed into clothes when they still a little wet, but they were too cold to care. Andrew turned away for a moment so Neil could take off his soaked shirt, and then Neil did the same so Andrew could comfortably remove the armbands. They returned to the car, where the heating was turned on almost immediately.
“What's next, sea man?”
“Do you know any good tattoo studios?”
‘ ̶S̶W̶I̶M̶M̶I̶N̶G̶ ̶I̶N̶ ̶T̶H̶E̶ ̶S̶E̶A̶.̶’ BUILDING A SAND CASTLE.’
•
Andrew didn't know a good tattoo studio, he knew the best studio in town. Neil found out that he used to be a brilliant tattoo artist in his younger years, but he had practically given it up in favour of writing books (in secret, he confessed to him that he had published two books under a pseudonym). He only drops by the studio occasionally to help out on busy days when Seth, the studio owner, asks him for assistance.
Seth is a strange guy, but he doesn't bother Neil as much as he thought he would. He makes silly, sometimes incomprehensible comments, and there is always a suggestive smile on his lips. They got to know each other briefly, and Seth was apparently only interested in his name, favourite beer and band.
He had no problem giving them a spot for the next hour.
Now Neil was waiting on a high stool, waving his legs excitedly, while Andrew sketched a somewhat dark-looking fox in front of him, which Neil decided to place on the side of his hip, along one of his scars. Seth came back for a moment and put two cups of tea on the table next to them. He stayed for a moment.
“Minyard rarely brings anyone here,” the man said, and Neil was sure that the tips of the blond man's ears had turned slightly pink. “You must be close, how do you know each other?”
“We actually met today,” Neil confessed, and Seth raised his pierced eyebrow before a suggestive smile reappeared on his face.
“We start, leave,” Andrew said indifferently, and Seth left the room amid laughter.
Andrew showed him the finished drawing and then copied it onto the appropriate piece of paper. Neil gently pulled up his T-shirt, revealing the patch of skin where the tattoo was to be placed. The boy made no comment about the scar, for which Neil was strangely grateful.
“Will it hurt?” he asked stupidly.
“I'm literally going to stick a needle into your skin, what do you think?”
“I'll live.”
He smiled happily, reaching for the camera with his free hand as Andrew slowly and carefully began his work. Neil didn't move his lower limbs, trying not to tense up too much as he lifted the camera, taking a picture of them from above, and then of Andrew himself at work. It didn't take them that long – they finished within the agreed time: Andrew (after taking the photo) secured the tattoo and then explained how to care for it.
“Do you have a tattoo?” Neil asked him as they tidied up the workstation together.
“No.”
“Do you want to have a tattoo?”
“No.”
“Hmm,” Neil glanced at the boy, smiling slightly. “It would suit your bad boy look.”
“The bad boy look?” Neil nodded.
“You know, the boy from the neighbourhood that parents warn their children about.” He saw the blond roll his eyes, though a slight, almost imperceptible smile appeared on his lips.
“You're the one who looks like trouble, out of the two of us.”
“Well, I am,” he replied proudly, grabbing his bag.
They returned to the reception area. Neil was practically racing, but Andrew wasn't in the mood to play, calmly walking the distance. He thanked Seth, who had invited him openly — he didn't let him go until Neil showed Andrew his work, and then commented on it in strange slang.
“Fucking awesome,” he added, which made Neil know that he liked it.
They decided to take a short walk, despite the cold of the night. Andrew took a slightly oversized leather jacket out of the car, and Neil commented briefly,”Bad boy.”
“What's next, trouble?” Neil ruffled his hair gently.
“Have you ever bleached your hair at home?” Andrew gave him a look.
̶"̶T̶A̶T̶T̶O̶O̶?̶"̶
•
A few minutes later, Neil was walking through town with a box of bleach, for which he had paid more than he really wanted to – Andrew's fault, who insisted that if he was going to bleach at home, he should at least use a good product. Neil was looking for a grocery store, his next stop, sometimes staring at stray cats.
“Do you have any pets?” he asked him as he passed another four-legged friend.
“Cats.”
“Do they have names?” There was a slightly longer silence. Neil looked at the blond man next to him.
“King…” he hesitated for a moment. “King Fluffikins.” Neil looked at him confused, stopping for a moment. “And Sir Fat Cat Mccatterson.” Neil couldn't help but chuckle, which suddenly escaped his lips. He instinctively covered his mouth with his hand, but it couldn't stifle the chuckle that kept growing. “I didn't name them,” added the irritated blond, which amused Neil even more. “It's my cousin, Nicky. He's an idiot.”
“A genius.” Neil started giggling again. He instinctively leaned forward, accidentally touching the boy's shoulder with his forehead. He was still giggling when Andrew pushed him gently. “Sir Fat Cat…” giggle. “I think I know which one is the favourite…” giggle again.
“You're enjoying this too much,” Andrew muttered to him, though his eyes still sparkled as he looked at Neil from under his lashes. A small smile played on his lips, which he tried unsuccessfully to hide. “You're laughing like a junkie.” Another giggle, which brought tears to his eyes
“It's just…” His giggle was partially muffled by the boy's arm. “It's a terrible name. Does it at least have a diminutive?”
“Just Sir,” he said when Neil had calmed down a little, gently pulling away. He smiled broadly at him, shaking his head in disbelief. “It's better than ‘cat.”
“You're right.” Neil took Andrew's hand in his. “Come on, let's find a shop. Maybe we can buy Sir Fat Cat McCatterson something to sweeten the name.”
“‘Your hands are terribly cold,” he said, and Neil shrugged carelessly.
“It's a bit cold,” he replied, looking around for a shop. “I guess I'm wearing too thin a shirt.”
Andrew was silent for a moment before suddenly stopping. Neil looked at him in surprise as he took off his leather jacket. He handed it to him without a word, and Neil smiled gently as he put on the oversized jacket. He put one hand in his pocket and held the other out towards Andrew, palm down.
He took it without a word, though a slight smile appeared on his lips.
•
Neil browsed the products on the shelf, glancing occasionally at the phone left for him, which displayed a recipe for simple muffins (Neil's flip phone still couldn't connect to the internet). He put the phone in his pocket. He grabbed some flour and put it in his basket, where he found a picture of some kind of cake, and then went to the aisle where the decorations were. He glanced briefly at the simple cupcakes in the box, then focused on the icing and sprinkles.
Andrew loved sweet things, so sprinkles seemed like a sensible choice.
“Guess who I met,” he glanced briefly to his right at the couple, then looked back at the toppings, realising it wasn't meant for him. “Mr Gloomy. He answered my greeting!” The boy seemed genuinely excited.
“Are you sure it wasn't Aaron?” the woman asked him, throwing a few rolls into her basket.
“No, it was definitely him,” he said. “He wasn't wearing a jacket, he must have been cold. It's strange, he usually wears one everywhere.”
The couple had moved a metre or two away when Andrew returned to he, looking at the ice cream freezers. They gave him a strange look. He reached for two packets, which he threw into the basket along with the cakes he had taken earlier, and then looked at Neil, “Isn't it too cold for ice cream?”
Andrew raised one eyebrow, and Neil smiled slightly before pointing to the shelf.
“How about we get some icing and cream? We can decorate the cupcakes together.” Neil thinks for a moment. “Or we could make the icing ourselves, it can't be that difficult…”
Andrew rolls his eyes slightly, but reaches into Neil's pocket to take out his phone in search of an undemanding recipe. Neil grabs the vanilla cream from the shelf: “Your favourite colour?”
“Black.”
“Black isn't a colour, choose another one.”
“Blue then.”
Neil reaches for blue food colouring, and Andrew grabs powdered sugar from the shelf next to it, which is apparently needed for the icing. The blond takes the basket from him, when Neil adjusts the uncomfortable handle again. Neil's gaze falls on a box of ready-made cupcakes.
“What if they don't turn out?” A shrug.
“Then we'll bake them again,” he said indifferently.
“What if the second batch doesn't turn out either?”
“Then we'll make a cake.”
Neil looks at him briefly, then holds out his hand, which Andrew accepts without a word. “Come on, let's get some fruit. You probably don't have any at home.” Then he chuckles softly. “We can get some snacks for Sir Fat…”
“You're stupid,” Andrew interrupts him, pretending to be irritated. On the way to the checkout, he picks up a treat for both cats.
•
Andrew's flat is on the top floor of a fairly large apartment building, although the flat itself is quite small. The small entrance hall contains only a shelf for shoes and coats, and immediately to the left is an open kitchen, while to the right are two pairs of doors: to the bedroom and the living room. Opposite the front door is the living room and dining room. There are plants everywhere in the house, and the house itself is extremely clean.
Almost immediately, he is greeted by two adorable kittens who capture his attention – King is white with a small heart-shaped spot on his forehead, while Sir (who, despite rumours, is not fat at all) is orange. Neil plays with them while Andrew puts his personal belongings in the living room and the groceries in the kitchen.
“Drink?”
“Water sounds fine,” he says, walking away from the cats, who follow him.
Andrew moves freely around the kitchen, sometimes stopping to pet one of the cats. In the meantime, I unpack the groceries, glancing at Neil to tell him to stay put for a moment.
Neil finishes by opening every cupboard to get an idea of where the cutlery and crockery are. He also helps unload the dishwasher and then reheat some pasta from the fridge, even though all he does is press buttons on the microwave (he gets a dirty look when he tries to put the cutlery in with the plate).
Andrew disappears for a moment to hang up wet clothes from the beach, and when he returns, they make muffins in pleasant silence, interrupted only by Neil's questions and Andrew's short answers.
Meanwhile, Neil learns that tomorrow there will be a welcome party at Andrew's flat for his cousin Nicky and his boyfriend, who are coming back from Germany for the weekend. Neil decides to make more cupcakes when he hears this.
“Why separate the yolk from the white if we're going to mix them together anyway?”
“You can't beat the yolk into a fluffy mass,” he replies monotonously.
“Hmm,” Neil starts the mixer again until Andrew tells him to turn it off.
They mix the ingredients together – Andrew mixes, and Neil stands next to him to watch, but they make quite a good team.
“Do you think we can add fruit to some of them?”
“Only blueberries,” Neil smiles, reaching for the packet immediately.
There are quite a lot of muffins – three batches of twenty, because Andrew has a strange baking tray. Each batch contains different ingredients, but each will be decorated similarly. One contains fruit (Neil says it's his favourite), the second contains chocolate chips, and the third is plain with no additives.
While the first batch is baking, they work on the icing, which requires an incredible amount of whisking, and then, after adding food colouring, they seal the icing in plastic bags. They start whipping the cream, but all Neil does is get the milk from the fridge and then taste it. In the meantime, Neil takes a few photos (in one of them, Andrew wrinkles his nose at him as if to chase away an annoying fly).
They hang around the kitchen, doing other things in the meantime, until all the batches are ready. They leave them to cool, high up so that the cats can't reach them, and then head to the bathroom, where they wash off the inevitable effects of cooking and then prepare to lighten their hair.
They end up with a stool in front of the large bathroom mirror. Neil vigorously mixes the necessary mixture – he is wearing a black T-shirt that he borrowed from Andrew, which is probably going to be thrown away.
“Do you want to lighten your whole head of hair?” Andrew asks him, carefully grabbing a strand of red hair. He is silent for a moment before adding reluctantly, “These suit you.”
“Actually, I only care about the ends, just a small part,” he tells him, smiling.
“Hmm,” he replies, and Neil can't help but smile wider.
It's mainly Andrew who dyes his hair, and Neil only makes it difficult for him by constantly fidgeting — he can't sit still, he's constantly distracted by the tickling of certain strands, and the photos on the camera won't take themselves, will they?
He only takes a few, but they're getting better and better – one shows the two of them in a mirror reflection: Andrew focused on his work, Neil just smiling stupidly; the second shows half of the task, and the third shows Andrew working.
For the twenty minutes it takes to lighten his hair (to white), they play with the cats, and then Andrew helps him rinse the lightener thoroughly before leaving him with a change of clothes and instructions to take a shower. Neil follows the instructions and then changes into (surprisingly) grey tracksuit bottoms and a loose-fitting white T-shirt. The wounds on his shoulders are exposed, but Andrew saw them at the seaside, so Neil returns to the living room without hesitation.
When Minyard goes to take a bath, he makes small changes to the flat: he attaches a photo of the aquarium to the fridge with a cute rainbow magnet. He leaves the two books he bought on the shelf next to the fern, where they are clearly visible so that Neil will definitely notice them. For the rest of the time, he sits on the sofa, stroking King's belly. They check the cloud cover online so they can watch the stars later.
A few minutes later, they return to the kitchen and frown at the hardened icing – they make it again, and Neil pretends not to notice Andrew crumbling the previous one to eat a little.
Finally, it's time to decorate the cupcakes – it's almost ten o'clock, but Neil doesn't feel tired as he clumsily tries to squeeze a perfect circle out of the cream tube, just like Drew does.
“It doesn't look so bad,” I meet with a pitying look.
Decorating with blue icing is definitely more fun because Neil can do whatever comes to mind. Although his artistic abilities have certain limitations. The first cupcakes have simple designs – mostly flowers or flames. Neil casually notices that Andrew wrinkles his nose slightly when he concentrates.
He pauses for a moment to fetch his camera to take a photo of an exceptionally pretty cupcake (which was actually a crooked jellyfish). However, when he returns, he find only crumbs and Sir Fat Cat on the floor next to the cream-covered tabletop, with cream on his black nose.
“I think I know why you have that name,” Neil snorts, taking a photo of the cat and then pointing the camera at its owner. He snaps a photo before putting the camera down between them. He still pretends not to see Andrew sneaking bites of the cupcakes.
Neil leans gently over Andrew's work: “Hey, that looks awesome.”
“You just don't have the talent,” Neil laughs softly, and then, in retaliation, he draw dicks on three chocolate cupcakes (Andrew's favourite) “Very mature.”
“I'm only twenty, I can still be a brat,” Andrew just rolls his eyes, eating a cupcake with a blue dick on it.
“What's next, junkie?”
“ ̶M̶A̶K̶E̶ ̶C̶U̶P̶C̶A̶K̶E̶S̶,̶ ̶M̶A̶Y̶B̶E̶ ̶A̶ ̶C̶A̶K̶E̶. ̶D̶Y̶E̶ ̶M̶Y̶ ̶H̶A̶I̶R̶ ̶H̶O̶W̶E̶V̶E̶R̶ ̶I̶ ̶W̶I̶S̶H̶.”
•
Seems like I should be getting somewhere. Somehow I’m neither here nor there.
Around midnight, they both lie in the dark on the floor, listening to a song that Neil discovered a long time ago and which he really liked. He heard it one rainy day at a petrol station – he got there on his own, because he somehow got lost on the way.
An older girl with pink tips found him and took him to the station, where she was working the cash register, and then sat him next to her, sometimes encouraging him to scan products.
He remembers that the radio was playing songs whose lyrics he didn't know because of the foreign language, until this one came on. Neil, then Alex, shyly asked for the title just as his mother arrived at the station.
Can you help me remember how to smile? Make it somehow all seem worthwhile.
He never found out the title, at least until now, when Andrew offered to play his favourite song – Runaway Train. It sounded a little different than he remembered – Drew explained that it was probably because it was an old song that had been re-recorded.
Neil stared into the darkness as the song echoed throughout the flat – he once met someone, he wasn't even sure who, who recommended that he do this. Listen to your favourite song to really feel it, and maybe love it again. He just smiled nervously at the time.
Neil now seemed to understand what that person had meant. As he stared into the darkness, hearing only the words of the song, which seemed to resonate with him even more than they had at that petrol station. He glanced briefly in the direction where he knew Andrew was lying.
I run away but it always seems the same.
He smiled into the darkness, happy that he could share this moment with him.
“ ̶L̶I̶S̶T̶E̶N̶ ̶T̶O̶ ̶Y̶O̶U̶R̶ ̶F̶A̶V̶ ̶S̶O̶N̶G̶ ̶I̶N̶ ̶T̶H̶E̶ ̶D̶A̶R̶K̶” RUNAWAY TRAIN (2022 REMASTER), SOUL ASYLUM.
•
Neil traced his pencil over a small piece of paper, occasionally glancing at the blond man, who was busy with his own piece of paper. He added a few freckles where they actually were, but that didn't make his drawing look any better – he felt that the “freckles” only added to the dirty look, as if he had accidentally put a few dots on it.
Neil was seriously considering abandoning this task when he was interrupted by the quiet ring of a phone – it wasn't his, so he ignored it. Andrew let the phone ring until the last ring before answering. The caller spoke for a long time, and Drew's only response was two short ‘yes’ before he hung up.
Andrew mentioned something about a quick visit to borrow some sugar (?). Neil thought that this must be what normal people do, so he nodded briefly before returning to work.
When he was almost finished with his poor attempt at improving his work, the doorbell rang before the door opened. Neil wondered briefly whether it was appropriate to say hello — when Andrew stood up, putting his drawing aside for a moment, he decided it was.
He fell a little behind when one of the cats wrapped itself around his ankle. After several attempts to break free, Neil simply picked King up and headed for the kitchen with him.
“I remembered that I promised Nicky that cake he likes so much,” he heard the woman's determined voice. “Kevin was supposed to buy sugar, but of course he didn't, and the nearest open shop is twenty minutes away…” The blonde noticed Neil coming in.
Neil smiled shyly at her, shifting King to one arm and extending the other to the girl.
“Hi, I'm Neil... E, nice to meet you.” The girl extended her manicured hand to him, assessing him from head to toe.
“Allison. I didn't know anyone would be here,” Andrew shrugged, transferring the sugar into a container. “You look gorgeous, aren't you a model?”
Neil laughed awkwardly. He felt the heat rise to his neck. “Last time I checked, I wasn't.”
Allison smiled at him, revealing straight, white teeth. “You have beautiful hair, where did you get it dyed?”
“Andrew did it,” Allison looked at the blond man, smiling delightedly. He returned her gaze indifferently before handing her the box. Neil paused for a moment before asking, “Would you like a cupcake?”
“How could I refuse?” The three of them went to the living room, where a tray was waiting on the table.
Allison took one of the cupcakes, but did not sit down, knowing she was about to leave. Andrew sat back down in his seat, and Neil casually (really by accident) glanced at Andrew's drawing. He frowned slightly when he saw the really good sketch. Andrew raised his eyebrow slightly when he saw him peeking.
“It does not mean ‘to show simultaneously’.”
“Well, I'm not going to show you my drawing. Compared to yours, it looks like total shit.”
“I was a professional tattoo artist, of course yours is going to be shit.” Neil frowned slightly.
“If it's shit, then you don't have to look at it.”
“Neil,” Neil paused for a moment before turning to Allison, who was watching them as if spellbound. He handed her the card, asking her with a slight glance. At the sight of it, she raised her well-groomed eyebrows. Her gaze shifted several times from the card to Andrew.
“You don't want to see this,” she said, looking at the card intently. “It could have been worse, though,” and then, instead of handing the card back to Neil, she handed it to Andrew, ignoring Neil's betrayed look. “I have to go, kisses. Thanks for the sugar!” And then the door slammed behind her.
Neil glanced carefully at Andrew's furrowed brow as he looked at the drawing. Given the rules of the game, Neil reached for Andrew's drawing — it was an animated copy of himself, retaining all the new changes, such as his hair. He even added a twinkle in his eye and a slight smile with a crooked tooth, which had grown back after being knocked out. Even the scars looked nice in this drawing.
“It sucks,” Andrew said, but a few minutes later, the drawing was hanging on the fridge. “What's next, Picasso?”
“ ̶D̶R̶A̶W̶ ̶S̶O̶M̶E̶O̶N̶E̶'̶S̶ ̶P̶O̶R̶T̶R̶A̶I̶T̶”.
•
It turned out that Palmetto sucks when it comes to stargazing – but they only found this out when they went up to the roof of the apartment building, warmly dressed and carrying a pack of half-used sparklers and a lighter. Neil had checked earlier, the sky was supposed to be cloudless, but the city was probably so polluted that it was difficult to see more than a handful of stars.
Despite this, they stayed on the roof. Andrew lit a cigarette and Neil inhaled the smoke, as this was what relaxed them. Neil looked for the few stars that were in the sky, but gave up after a few minutes. The chance of seeing a shooting star was normally low, let alone in such conditions.
‘“Next time we'll have to go somewhere else,” Neil muttered before looking away from the sky to the city below them. “Have you ever seen a shooting star?”
“No.”
“Would you like to see one sometime?” No answer, but Neil found the truth he needed.
He looked back up at the sky, examining the star that shone the brightest. He heard the click of a lighter, probably another cigarette lit by Andrew. But then a hissing sound reached his ears — Neil didn't have time to turn his head when suddenly, within his field of vision, a sparklers appeared, slowly moving from one side to the other.
“I think that's a shooting star,” said Andrew, standing behind him. “You should make a wish.”
Neil smiled broadly as he watched the sparklers slowly move past Andrew. A star. A shooting star. He watched it before thinking of a wish. He wanted Andrew Minyard to stay in his life forever, or at least as long as possible.
He turned to face the boy, who was standing a few inches away. He carefully examined Neil's face, holding the star, which was burning out, in his right hand. Andrew smiled gently, a small dimple appearing on his right cheek.
“What's next, pipe dream?”
Neil bit his cheek gently before standing up as well. He hid his hands behind his back, slowly approaching the boy, who watched his every step carefully.
“When I was writing my dream list, I didn't think I'd actually do the last item,” he whispered into the small space between them. “I wrote it down on impulse... I wasn't going to do it if it was just for the list, but... Then I met you and thought I'd do it regardless of whether it was on the list or not.”
Neil gently raised his hand to cup Andrew's neck – his pupils dilated, almost completely covering the honey colour that matched the bracelet on Neil's wrist. “Yes or no?”
“Yes,” Neil smiled gently before their lips met in a slow kiss.
They brushed against each other for the moment they needed to gain confidence. Then Drew took control, grabbing Neil's hip with his right hand to pull him closer, and tangling his left hand in his hair to deepen the kiss.
Neil allowed him to do so, willingly giving himself to the boy who had stolen his heart that evening — it didn't matter, Neil believed that if Andrew asked, he could give him more, because he knew they were safe with him.
They moved slightly apart to catch their breath. Their shallow breaths mingled together. Neil smiled slightly at him, stealing another quick kiss.
“Pipe dream?”
“Shut up,” he rolled his eyes, then stole another kiss.
̶W̶A̶T̶C̶H̶ ̶T̶H̶E̶ ̶S̶T̶A̶R̶S̶ ̶(̶M̶A̶Y̶B̶E̶ ̶S̶H̶O̶O̶T̶I̶N̶G̶ ̶S̶T̶A̶R̶S̶?̶)̶
•
It was four in the morning when Neil's back hit the heavy wooden bedroom door. He hissed through his teeth, smiling as Andrew's hand moved towards his waist, exposing skin sensitive to the cool air.
Their lips brushed against each other, moving towards the jaw, larynx, sternum, lower abdomen and below, as eager hands explored the curves and raised scars of their bodies. The night witnessed half-spoken words whispered in haste, yet sincere like no other; it witnessed sweet moans and whimpers; giggles and minor mishaps that were quickly remedied with enthusiasm.
Neil remember this night for a long time, that was for sure.
He remember Andrew's dilated pupils, looking at him with pure adoration.
He remember his name whispered like the sweetest song.
He remember the outline of Andrew's figure, which so often met his own.
He remember their intertwined hands, their bracelets rubbing against each other, the same yet different.
He remember pulling on the strap of necklace to pull him in for a kiss.
He remember Andrew Joseph Minyard with a gentle, calm smile on his lips.
“ ̶B̶E̶I̶N̶G̶ ̶A̶ ̶N̶O̶R̶M̶A̶L̶ ̶B̶O̶Y̶ ̶(̶S̶E̶X̶ ̶O̶R̶ ̶K̶I̶S̶S̶ ̶P̶R̶E̶T̶T̶Y̶ ̶B̶O̶Y̶)̶”
•
They both slept very little that night. After a long kiss and cleaning up the mess they had made, they lay down next to each other to watch a film that was never shown, in favour of photos from a slowly malfunctioning camera with orange stickers.
Neil saw lots of photos he had no idea about. Shots taken when he didn't realise the camera was up. The dance he had with two girls resulted in a blurry but still great photo. The aquarium showed a delicate smile as he fed the stingrays. His tongue was sticking out as he decorated cupcakes, and a wide smile showed all his teeth on the roof as he played with artificial fire.
Neil insisted on downloading the photos before going to bed so that Andrew could have them too. He wasn't sure if they did it in the end, or if fatigue got the better of them, because all he remembers is a hot morning with his arm draped over his bare waist.
The morning turned out to be difficult. Andrew finally had plans for today, and Neil had to explain at work why he hadn't shown up yesterday without a word, even though he thought Wymack didn't mind. He also wanted to print the photos for the album.
He said goodbye to Andrew with a long kiss. “Fate will bring us together again,” Neil joked.
“Fate doesn't exist,” he replied, pulling him in for one last kiss.
Neil left the apartment building with a smile on his face and a bag that was a few items heavier. It was only when he got home that he discovered the reason for the extra weight: a large, hardcover book by A. Doe. On the title page, Neil found elegant handwriting containing ten digits of a telephone number. Neil wrote down the number as “destiny”.
•
THE BEGINNING
Neil Abram Josten, fresh from becoming one, went where he hoped to experience normal life. He began studying, choosing a course with an additional foreign language and advanced mathematics, but it didn't matter — for Neil, only the conversations and the conclusions he drew from them mattered.
He remembers his flatmate, whose first name was Swan and whose lastname was the same as his own. He once joked that they might be distant relatives, but Neil knew better.
He remembers that one evening Swan came back to the dorm late, completely drunk, bumping into every wall. Neil helped him to his bed, which Swan quickly gave up on. They ended up on the floor in the toilet, where their conversation was interrupted by constant vomiting.
“I was sure that normal life would be different,” Neil admitted to him then. “There would be less drinking and vomiting…”
“I'm a terrible example of student life,” Swan told him then.
“It's not about student life. I already know what that's like” Neil remembers the sad smile on his lips. “It's about... About the life of a normal, average person. I've had a bit of a shitty…” He waves uncertainly at his face. “I'd like to be able to live my life peacefully, like a normal person. Just don't know how."
They were silent for a long moment. Neil was actually getting up to take his friend to bed when he suddenly spoke: "Normal life is... Hmm, it's mostly trials, difficulties, everything that comes to mind at the moment. You want ice cream, so you go to the shop to buy some. You complain about rubbish buses, so you learn to drive. You go to the zoo or a café, you talk to strangers."
Swam gave him examples, and Neil listened carefully, even though it took an unusually long time. Then, when the vomiting stopped, he helped him get into bed, and when he tried to leave, a hand on his wrist stopped him.
“Normally, life is mostly... trying, friends and love, Neil,” he smiled amusedly. “Talking to some guy in a café and then doing normal things with him. Maybe kissing that guy, maybe spending a night of passion with him, maybe even falling in love with him. Trying all of that. That's normal life.”
Neil thought about those words for a long time, thought about them a lot, even though Swan himself didn't remember their conversation – then they lost touch after college, which Neil never actually finished because he didn't have to.
This conversation took place two years ago, but it was only yesterday that Neil opened his eyes with the intention of changing, with the intention of living a normal life. He dressed as he always did. He ate the same breakfast as always, and then tripped over the same broken step of the building, but instead of heading to the boring rental shop as usual, he turned into a different street, came across a café, where he talked to a guy, then kissed him, slept with him and fell in love.
He tried it all. And he quite liked normal life.
THE END.