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The boys at juvie used to call him suicidal when they saw his arms… Well, they did when they could still talk. They stopped after he sent the first batch of brave idiots to the hospital. Those morons would never understand that he had no intention of dying. The cuts were shallow. Controlled. It hurt—of course it hurt—but that was the point. It was pain by his own hand.
Andrew had never met someone who truly wanted to die until he met his cousin, Nicky Hemmick. This young adult who decided to take in two clearly broken teenagers with anger issues, drug problems, and clashing personalities who couldn’t even stand being in the same room. An oversized idiot who ignored clearly stated boundaries, even if that meant having a knife pressed to his jugular more than once a day. God probably exists and loves loud gays. It’s the only explanation for why Nicky is still alive.
For the record, despite every boundary crossed, he was the only person Andrew felt safe with. Contradictory? Yes. Irrational? No. Andrew knew his cousin wasn’t a monster (and if he’d felt even a little sick when their idiot teammates slapped that nickname on them—not just him but the rest of his family by association… he would never admit it).
He doesn’t know exactly when they became a real family. Was it before the bar incident? After the afternoons of ice cream and movies? When Andrew locked his brother in the bathroom and Nicky simply understood why? No idea.
What he does know is that there are days—like today—when Nicky goes out of his way to say things that would earn him a slow and painful death at the hands of Andrew and Aaron.
They’re in the campus dining hall. Just them. “The monsters.” Everything had been perfectly silent. Kevin with his macronutrient bullshit. Aaron and Neil with their salads. And Andrew with the greasiest thing he could find in the athletes’ cafeteria—basically spring rolls and fried chicken over rice.
Life sucks.
Then Nicky shows up and drops the stupidest thing he’s said in the six hours he’s been awake.
“So, Andrew, which girl do you find most attractive right now?”
Everyone’s reactions are perfectly timed. Kevin narrows his eyes like he’s trying to process the sentence. Neil lifts his head toward Nicky and raises an accusing eyebrow, while Aaron chokes on a carrot.
“I think—” Aaron pounds his chest to avoid dying— “you’ve got the wrong twin.”
Nicky rolls his eyes and looks at Aaron like he’s the dumbest creature alive.
“If I asked you which girl you liked so I could set you up on a post-breakup date”—he has to duck to avoid a piece of lettuce—“you’d probably tell me to fuck off.”
“Yeah, because Andrew obviously wouldn’t,” Neil says, shifting slightly closer to him. Not touching. But close enough to feel his warmth.
“Andrew is gay,” Kevin says, still confused.
“I know, Kev. We found out at the same time.”
“Gay men like men,” Kevin clarifies.
“I’m lost. What does that have to do with me?” Aaron asks. “Ignoring the fact that I absolutely do not need your help to get someone and, in fact, don’t want anyone. Why ask Andrew?”
“Andrew. Gay person. Likes men,” Kevin repeats, more to himself than anyone else. Sometimes it still seems like he hasn’t fully connected the concepts of gay and Andrew in the same sentence.
“Guys, come on, it’s obvious why,” Nicky says, pointing at Neil.
Aaron makes a disgusted face. Not because Neil is something like Andrew’s partner—but because he’s Neil. Neil flips him off and keeps eating.
“Okay. You have my attention. Explain,” Andrew finally says, tired of the circles.
Nicky sighs like he’s explaining to a group of monkeys how to peel a banana and they’re failing miserably. He points at Neil again and then gestures toward a distant table where the source of his brother’s misery is sitting.
Everyone looks at Neil, then at Katelyn, more than once—until their eyes go wide.
Kevin starts laughing. Aaron and Neil don’t bother hiding their disgusted expressions.
“You clearly have similar tastes.”
“Don’t ever say that again,” Aaron gags. Or pretends to. Andrew hopes it’s pretend.
“I feel dirty,” Neil mutters, pushing his salad away.
Andrew suppresses a small smile at the stupidity of the situation. He could stay quiet and let everyone forget the nonsense his cousin just unleashed. But he takes pity on him.
“So your theory is that we both prefer blue-eyed redheads.”
He watches Nicky swallow hard—but he doesn’t back down.
“Not a theory. A fact.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, dear cousin,” Andrew says, standing up from the table. “I can’t help you this time.”
“Oh, come on! Just name one. I’ll do the rest of the work.”
“You will do nothing,” Aaron threatens.
“It’s just that I prefer brunettes over redheads.”
And with that bombshell—leaving everyone stunned—he walks away, hoping no one remembers the former brunette Aaron used to secretly date in high school.
No one brings it up again for the rest of the day.
Until the rooftop.
Neil stands there, a little lost in the horizon, with that familiar posture he gets when he wants to say something but is afraid of “breaking the bubble.” Andrew takes a slow drag from his cigarette and grips his partner’s chin, blowing smoke into his face.
“Spit it out,” he orders.
Neil exhales all the air from his lungs, his freckled cheeks flushing.
“Brunettes?”
Andrew nods.
“Like Roland?”
Now his rabbit is as red as the sky in front of them.
“It’s a valid preference.”
“Yeah. Yeah, obviously.”
“Although…” Neil turns his head so fast Andrew thinks he might snap his own neck. “I was thinking more like… artificial black.”
“Artificial black?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t follow.”
Andrew sighs like this conversation is the most annoying thing in the world—and not a small piece of himself opening up to the man he loves. He reaches out and gently tugs a strand of Neil’s hair.
“Artificial black. Like the kind I saw a certain striker wear all through his freshman year.”
“Oh,” Neil says. Then again— “OH.”
Andrew can’t stand it anymore. He leans in, stopping less than an inch away. Neil doesn’t take half a second to tilt his head and close the distance. Slow. Deep. The kind of kiss that makes Andrew feel like Neil could melt his entire world if he wanted to… and he would let him.
When they pull apart, Neil runs a hand through his hair.
“Should I dye it again?”
Andrew lets out an offended sigh.
“Do whatever you want, junkie. You don’t need my permission, and you don’t need to change your appearance for me.”
Neil nods—but Andrew knows he’s still thinking about it.
“Copper suits you just as well as black, anyway…”
Neil laughs, and Andrew knows that removes any doubt from the equation.
He loves Neil—whether he looks like his brother’s ex-fox or not.